Crossroads of Time
by elle-nora
Summary: Now complete! On a visit to the 9th century court of Scotland's first king, Methos meets a preimmortal who stirs within him memories of his childhood, and the ancient immortal known as Aja.
1. Prologue: The Bargain of Fergus McCurdy

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Highlander: _Crossroads of Time_

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Table of Contents

Prologue: The Bargain of Fergus McCurdy

Chapter One: Meetings...

Chapter Two: ... and Beginnings

Chapter Three: Lessons...

Chapter Four: ... and Questions

Chapter Five: Vengeance...

Chapter Six: ...and Mercy

Chapter Seven: Life...

Chapter Eight: ... and Death?

Chapter Nine: Death...

Chapter Ten: ... and Rebirth

Chapter Eleven: Promises...

Chapter Twelve: ... and Trust

Chapter Thirteen: One!

Afterword

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Prologue: The Bargain of Fergus McCurdy

_The wind whistled about him in ever increasing gales. Lightening crackled in the night sky and the rain poured in blinding sheets. It was, thought Fergus McCurdy, as if nature herself mirrored his own anguish and anger._

They had brought Cameron home to him. His only son ... his only child ... the only one who had ever mattered ... Cameron was dead. Killed in Cinaed's war with the Picts. He had joined the army against Fergus' wishes.

"My place is at Cinaed's side."

"Your place is here." Fergus had told him. "You have duties and obligations."

"Aye ... and I will fulfill them. But I also have duties to this land and to Cinaed. I have given my word and I will keep it."

So he had followed the king and he had died. "Now," Fergus groaned, "now nothing matters." His line would die and the name of Fergus mac Curdy would be lost. His wife, Maire, was long dead, and he was too old to take another ... nor did he care to. He had set so many hopes on Cameron ... now they were all dashed.

Fergus screamed into the storm, roaring into the wind the old cries ... the ones his ancestors had once uttered to the old gods ... the gods of earth and air ... the ones that were before the Christian God had come to these shores.

Once before he and Maire had dared to call on the old gods. After she had lost the eighth of their children ... when even the good father had said to them that it was God's will ... Maire had whispered into the darkness for a child that would live ... and Fergus had whispered with her.

As her belly had swollen once more, they had, in the dark of night, offered the sacrifice of cake, sweetened with honey, clear water, clotted cream and fresh berries and prayed to the old gods. When her time had neared, a wandering mid-wife, unknown to the clan, had come. With practiced hands she had safely delivered Cameron into his father's eager arms.

But Cameron was dead! Fergus sliced the knife across his palm, letting the blood drip onto the bread he had set in the center of the circle of standing stones. He roared the old words once more. She would come! She had to come!

The storm lessened about him. The rain slowed to a mist and finally stopped. Above him the clouds parted and moonlight and star-shine began to work their age-old magic. They were the lights in the night sky ... and they offered peace to those lost in darkness.

She had come! As silently as the clouds had parted, she had come. Fergus saw the tall, stern faced Lady, her clothes as dark as night, her hair, shining like silver in the moonlight. "Desist, Fergus, your cries are enough to wake the dead."

She entered the stone circle and sat down next to him. "I am here."

"My son is dead!"

"Death is a part of life. All things die and are swept away in the fullness of their time."

"But he was my son. Now I have no child to follow after me. My name will be lost. There is no future." Fergus wept.

She sighed deeply. "What would you give Fergus, for another child?" She absently stirred the sodden bread with her foot.

"All that I own ... all my lands ... all my cattle ... everything ... for a child that will never die."

The Lady looked at him thoughtfully. She knitted her brows and then raised one of them as if in question. "Bargains with me are perilous ... are you certain this is a path you would trod?"

Fergus laid his right hand over his heart. "I do swear this."

"Then I might have such a child." She reached into the bag she had slung over her shoulder and pulled out a small wrapped bundle, which she lay at Fergus' feet. "I had other plans ... but perhaps this is for the best."

Fergus knelt and reached eagerly for the small bundle. He grinned broadly. "My thanks, my Lady ... I am yours for all time." Slowly he unwrapped the child and then his face dropped. "It's ... it's ... it's a girl."

"Well ... you did not specify a son."

"But ... but ... but ..." Fergus sputtered. "How shall my name live?"

"It will live ... I have sworn it." The Lady rose to her feet, towering above him. "I keep my word. Bargains with me are not easily broken. And remember, all that you own is forfeit this night to me ... save your name."

Fergus gazed upon the tiny child before him. Dark hair grew on her small head; and, in the moonlight, her green eyes sparkled. She laughed a baby's cooing laugh and kicked the air. One tiny hand reached to his and grasped a finger. Fergus softened, "How then shall I provide for her?" Fergus re-wrapped the tiny smiling child.

The Lady adjusted her bags and picked up the tall staff she had earlier set aside. "You may keep your lands and cattle until the child is grown. When you are dead, they will be mine."

"But she must have a dowry ... how then shall I provide for her." Fergus had picked the baby up and was holding her gently in his arms ... bouncing her slightly and playfully up and down.

The Lady turned once more to him. "I tell you this, Fergus McCurdy ... That child shall have none. The man worthy of her will take her as she is with only the clothes upon her back. Indeed, he will pay a king's ransom for the honor of her hand."

"Yes ..." Fergus understood. "She will be worth it." He looked once more into the face of the Lady. "I will love her and cherish her all the rest of my days."

The Lady nodded. "But she will not always remain with you. A day will come when she shall be sent for. You will know the time. Let her go, then, Fergus ... or she may die."

The Lady leaned over to gaze into the face of the changeling child. She spoke words that to Fergus had no meaning ... syllables of sound that meant nothing to him. The only one he was able to clearly hear was the first of them ... "Aella ..." Then she turned to go.

"Call me no more. Our business is concluded. I go now to rest in the earth ... my tasks are at long last complete. My long road is at last ended ... and I am free." She left him then. He and the child were alone in the great stone circle.

He told the others of his village that the girl was his granddaughter. That Cameron had married a woman of foreign lands. She had given him the girl to raise before she died. He had said nothing else. It was the truth ... if not the whole truth.

The little girl was an enchantment as she grew. She laughed and sang and danced about the village. She took wonder in the things of nature and eased the sorrow of those she touched. Whenever Fergus sat, she would climb into his lap and his heart was glad. If others whispered words that she was a faerie child, he merely smiled. Aella was his ... and his world was complete. She was his ... and she would not die.

When she was five, emissaries from Cinaed's court came to the village.

"The wars are ended. King Kenneth ... they gave his name the newer sounding pronunciation ... wishes all the clans to form strong alliances. You are required to send a child of your household to his court."

Fergus laughed. "I had but one child and he is dead!"

The emissary pointed at Aella playing in the dust nearby. "She will do."

Fergus roared at them, "Never!" He swept Aella into his arms and held her close. He dared to turn his back on the king's men.

Aella placed one tiny hand on the side of his face and cocked her head to one side; as though listening to a voice only she could hear. "Grandfather ... the Lady says it is time."

Fergus sobbed. "So soon ... so soon." He turned back to the men and held her out. "Take her, then" His heart was breaking, but if the child was to live, the Lady had said he must let her go. His voice betrayed none of this.

The king's man took her and then said, "You are also to arrange for a dowry ... so that when she is old enough ... the king can make a suitable marriage for her ... an alliance to strengthen the clans."

Fergus smiled mysteriously, "I have none to give. No lands ... nor cattle ... nothing save the clothes she wears. Tell Cinaed the man worthy of her will take her as she is. And ... he will offer a king's ransom for the honor."

And so it was, that Aella, the changeling child ... the final gift of the Faerie Queen ... came to the court of King Kenneth MacAlpin to meet her destiny. And Fergus McCurdy kept his bargain and no dowry did he ever send.


	2. Chapter One: Meetings

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Chapter One

Meetings ...

Forteviot, Kingdom of All Scots, 843 c.e.:

Methos reined in his horse. Before him, the great hall of the new Scots king rose three stories. A wooden stockade surrounded it. About the stockade, sprawled a village of mud and wattle huts. Everything looked raw and new. Except the land. That, he knew, was as old as time itself.

"Sir Edward!" Methos turned toward the sound of Lord Strathclyde's voice. "Shall we enter?" Methos nodded. They had, after all, been invited. This new king wanted to discuss peace negotiations ... perhaps a treaty between his kingdom and his neighbor to the south. Someone to back him up in case the persistent Picts did not settle down to live under his rule.

Methos motioned to the rest of their entourage and they slowly entered the court of King Kenneth MacAlpin. Once inside the stockade, he warily glanced around at the defenses, carefully evaluating the strengths and weaknesses in case they needed to beat a hasty retreat. With a practiced eye, he counted the guards, noted their weapons, the placement of the side buildings, the movements and tenor of the court, everything. Within moments he probably knew as much about the place as those who lived there did.

He knew which building was the kitchen ... which was the barracks ... which was the guest house ... the servants' quarters, the stables, and, possibly most important, at least for him ... where the chapel -- holy ground -- stood, ... just in case.

Lord Strathclyde, a burly bearded man in his forties, halted the group with a raised arm. A herald had come forward to meet him.

"You are most welcome Lord Strathclyde, ... his majesty will be pleased to receive you."

Lord Strathclyde, dismounted, "And I will be most please to meet with him." He bowed slightly to the herald. As the others also dismounted, Lord Strathclyde leaned in closely to Methos. "Have a look around, Edward, ... I want to know precisely what we are getting ourselves into here. I do not want surprises."

Methos nodded. "Are you certain you do not wish me to accompany you into your audience with the king?"

"If Kenneth wanted us dead, he has had ample opportunity. Besides, I do not think he will let us approach armed. I want you to use those skills of yours to assess these surroundings."

Methos nodded and bowed slightly. He refrained from mentioning that the task was already complete. No sense in letting Lord Strathclyde know just how good he was at his job. It was best to appear capable, but not too capable.

Grooms came forward to lead the horses away towards the stables; servants arrived to take the group's personal belongings into the rooms, which undoubtedly awaited them. They also led away Lord Strathclyde's servants to help in the settling of their lord's belongings. The lord's personal squire, young Cedric, followed Lord Strathclyde closely; bearing in his hands the small chest with its gift for the new king. 

Methos watched them enter the king's hall, then began to wander about the courtyard, seemingly aimless, but all the while noting additional details. The members of the court, both servants and warriors, appeared fairly at ease, well-fed, confident in their new king's abilities. Methos observed a group of musicians practicing their music, probably for the feast later that night. Servants, bearing platters of food, hurriedly moved between the kitchen and the great hall. Others, on other tasks, also moved determinedly about the courtyard. Methos betrayed no interest in anything... but he took it all in... observing every detail... every face.

At the side yard, near the stables, several boys were practicing fighting moves with sticks. The sounds of other children were just beyond. As he moved past the sparring youths, Methos felt the minor tingle of a pre-immortal. Nothing to worry about... but still, he ought to check this out. Several servants brushed past him. A group of warriors were arguing about battle tactics. He casually turned, trying to focus on just where the buzz was coming from.

He finally narrowed it down to the small group of children. A young woman, slender, with long red hair braided behind her in the style of the day, dressed, not as a servant, but not quite like a noblewoman, was apparently in charge of them. She called out to them occasionally... obviously keeping a close eye on her charges. One of them approached her and told her something; then pointed at the immortal watching them.

She turned to look at him, a question on her face. He smiled slightly and nodded his head in her direction. She said something to the children, folded her arms across her chest and walked up to him, her brows, above her blue eyes, were knotted in a question. "May I help you, Sir? Is there something I may do for you?" She came to a stop a few feet away.

The sense of something was closer. Methos nodded and bowed slightly, "I am with Lord Strathclyde's party. I was just familiarizing myself with the court." He gestured about casually. "I did not mean to disturb you."

The young woman nodded in return but stood still for a moment, "Is there anything more..."

Methos took a deep breath and looked around, "There are many children here. More than I would have expected."

"Yes... the king asked the clan chieftains to send children of their household here. They are tokens of their alliance with the king."

Methos nodded. The children were hostages. Then he noticed the small head of a very young girl peeking out from behind the young woman. She was perhaps five years of age, but so small she appeared younger. Her black hair was pulled back from her face and hung long over her shoulders. She had green eyes... green as the great Atlantic Ocean. He had not seen such eyes in... well... in a long, long, long time. The child smiled and waved at him before ducking shyly once more behind her red-haired guardian.

"And who is this?" Methos leaned down slightly. The child peeked out once more... giggled in delight, and ... then quickly hid her face in the skirts of the young woman.

Her arms still crossed, the young woman turned slightly and glanced down, as if this were an ordinary occurrence. She laughed, "Oh that one! ... She is said to be old Fergus McCurdy's granddaughter. But I have my doubts. I would not put it past that wily old man to have sent us a changeling child."

"Why do you say a changeling child?" Methos kept his voice flat, he did not wish to seem too interested in the little girl.

"I just meant that she is likely some peasant woman's child. Old McCurdy is known not to be greatly keen on this alliance." Behind her voices were raised. "Still, she is better off here than in some hovel." She turned then to see about the disturbance behind her. Two young girls of about ten were pushing one another.

"Why is that?" Methos continued.

"She... they..." she gestured at the children, "are all better off here. They have me to watch over them." She clapped her hands together and raised her voice, "Fiona! ... Catherine! ... Compose yourselves, girls! This behavior is not ladylike. If you are not seen as young ladies, who will ever wish to marry you!" She moved to stand between the chastised girls, separating them roughly with her outspread arms. 

The small elfin child stayed where she had been, suddenly exposed to Methos' full attention. She twisted back and forth, shyly grinning. Then she bit her lip and raised her hands to her mouth. Her smile widened.

Chapel bells began to ring.

Someone called at her, a name Methos did not quite catch. The child continued to just grin, seemingly oblivious of anyone else. One of the older girls came forward to grasp one of her small hands and pull her back into the retreating group of children. The red-haired woman had lined the children up and was leading them off toward the chapel. Even as she was being led away, the child still looked back at him... smiling. She ventured a small wave over her shoulder at him with her free hand.

Behind him, Methos heard one of the passing warriors mumble to another, "There goes Mary McDonough and her brood. Wouldn't I like to be the one the king saddles her on." The two laughed raucously and moved on. Methos continued to watch the group of children until they had vanished, then he turned and continued his "oh so casual" survey walk about the courtyard. Things had suddenly gotten very interesting.

Hours later, he made his report to Lord Strathclyde as the lord dressed for the feast. Cedric lounged nearby as the servants adjusted their master's garments.

"So you believe that this court of theirs is a stable one... that it has a good chance to succeed? This alliance of the clans with MacAlpin will hold?" Strathclyde waved away the servants and attempted to adjust the neck of his tunic. One servant approached with a looking glass of polished metal to allow the Lord to see his reflection. Strathclyde turned slightly, admiring what he saw, then waved the servant away.

"Yes, my Lord," Methos replied. "There is a sense of purpose and confidence in both the servants and the retainers I have seen. I failed to note any sense of rebellion or dissatisfaction." Methos stood quietly, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Very well," Strathclyde nodded at Methos. "You are dismissed. I will want you to accompany me to the feast... you and Cedric."

Methos bowed his head once more and turned to leave.

"One more thing Edward... remember we may not go _armed_ into the king's presence." From his emphasis on the word armed, Methos knew Strathclyde was telling him to be secretly armed somehow. He would leave the details to his retainer. Well, that was not a problem... Methos never went anywhere without being armed. He knew how to conceal a blade.

Lilting music filled the great hall of Kenneth MacAlpin. As Strathclyde and his party entered, Methos casually observed the placement of tables, guests, guards, servants, and musicians. Everyone seemed relaxed, cheerful. Everything appeared as he had told Strathclyde. This was a court, which definitely had a chance to succeed. If, that was, they could continue to hold the Picts in check. For that they looked to their new king and his abilities to forge alliances that would work.

Strathclyde leading the way, the party of three men made their way to the head table where Strathclyde bowed graciously before King Kenneth. "Your Majesty, we are most grateful for your many kindness'. May I present Sir Edward Gray, one of my household."

Methos bowed.

Kenneth was seated on an ornately carved chair on the far side of the table. He gestured to the empty chair at his right. "We would appreciate your joining us my Lord Strathclyde."

Strathclyde smiled, nodded his agreement, and walked around the table to be seated in the offered place of honor at Kenneth's right hand. Cedric trooped behind. It was he who would serve his lord during dinner. Methos remained where he was. A servant came forward and led him to a nearby table to be seated with others of similar rank. All was as it should be. Protocol must be observed.

As he took his seat and was introduced to the others at this table, he was vaguely aware of the nearness of the pre-immortal. A glance to his left confirmed that the group of hostage children and Mary McDonough were at one of the lower tables.

The music ended and the herald announced that the feast would now commence. A great shout of affirmation went up from the assembled guests and the first course was served. During the meal Methos listened to the talk at his table, all the while observing the head table. The king and Lord Strathclyde appeared to be enjoying themselves. Methos could hear laughter from them as some jest was made.

Behind him the feel of the pre-immortal increased. He casually turned to see Mary McDonough approaching. She was holding the hand of the elfin child.

She curtsied. "You have managed to enchant one of my charges, Sir Knight. She has a small gift for you."

Several of the men at the table snickered.

Methos remained seated but turned to face the little girl.

The child let go of Mary's hand and pulled out from behind her back with the other hand, a wreath of flowers, chained together with simple knots in their stems. Methos started slightly. The little girl took the flowers in both hands and stepped toward him. Standing on tiptoe, she reached high above her to place the wreath on Methos' head. Laughter erupted at the table.

"Better be careful, Sir Edward... King Kenneth might not appreciate another man being crowned king in his hall." Methos smiled.

"My thanks my lady."

The little girl reached one hand up to touch his face. She lightly brushed his cheek, and leaning in close to him, she whispered. "She says to tell you, you have her father's eyes."

For a moment, Methos was struck dumb... the sounds of the hall... the music... the laughter... all the sounds of the feast were as nothing. The revelers moved slowly in silence. Then the moment passed. All was as it should be. He asked quizzically, "Who told you that?"

"The Lady."

Once again the men at the table erupted into laughter and began slapping one another as if it were a great joke.

Mary once more took the child's hand and offered an apology. "I am sorry Sir Knight, ... sometimes it seems she talks to Queen Mab herself. She is a curious child." Mary led the girl off. Methos stared after them.

"You know, Sir Edward," he heard one of the men say. "You best divest yourself of your Faerie crown." Laughter erupted once more. Methos forced himself to join in the laughter and pulled the flowers off. He made it look as though he had dropped them onto the floor, but he secured them under his cloak. He wanted a better look at them later. Next he leaned forward at the table and joined in a toast. They were all _friends_ here after all. No sense in provoking a fight. He glanced back at the hostage children and their guardian.

"Fancy Mary McDonough, do you?" One of them men leaned over. "Aye... she's the real prize in that group. Her father has promised a fine dowry and lands to match. King Kenneth will decide who she is to marry."

Methos turned back to face him. "She then is also a hostage."

"Oh yes. Old McDonough supports our new king, but he hopes to make a strong marriage for the girl."

Methos nodded. Of course... that made perfect sense.

"Of course, " the man continued, "The man she marries will also have to deal with her legendary temper!" Once again the men at the table began to laugh.

Early the next day, while Lord Strathclyde and the king were in conference again, Methos sought out Mary McDonough.

"I am truly sorry if she embarrassed you last evening." Mary was in one of the antechambers of the hall. Six of the girls were sitting around her, working on needlework. The little girl and a few of the other young children were playing on the dirt floor. "We are never certain what she will do or what she will say. She often speaks of this invisible Lady. Father Padraic says she will grow out of this."

"I was not offended. I was just curious if she often does this."

Mary stopped to give some instruction to one of the girls on her stitches and glanced over at the child. "Not like this. As I said... she seems quite enchanted with you."

Methos looked over at the little girl. She had a stick in her hand and was drawing patterns in the dust of the dirt floor. Outside, the chapel bell rang. Mary gathered the girls up and led them off. As she did so, the child once more looked behind her, smiled at Methos, and ventured a little wave.

Methos walked slowly over to see what it was the girl had drawn in the dirt. He stared at the symbols. They were old markings. They had been old when he was young. He lifted one booted foot and carefully smudged them, erasing all sign of their existence. Then placing his hands behind his back, he thoughtfully walked out into the courtyard.

Upon the conclusion of his meeting with the king later that day, Lord Strathclyde abruptly announced to his party that they would be leaving at dawn on the morrow. The negotiations had gone well, and, if they were not allies, the two courts were, at least, on friendly terms. Much work was still needed. Methos spent the rest of the day in Lord Strathclyde's company. That afternoon, they even rode out for a deer hunt with several of MacAlpin's men.

At dawn, their horses were packed and loaded. The king himself presented Lord Strathclyde with a fine dagger. They mounted their horses, gave their regards to those assembled and headed through the gate.

Methos sensed the elfin child nearby. She had somehow escaped her guardian and was standing at the stockade, halfway hiding behind an escarpment. She watched him pass by with those green eyes of hers. Mary McDonough came up behind her and began to pull her away. The child twisted her head around to continue watching as he left. Mary pulled more sharply on the child's arm and turned her back towards her. The words she spoke were lost in the sounds of the horses' hooves and the shouts of "Good journey!"

Methos faced forward and urged his horse through the gate and toward the high road to the south. It had been an interesting visit. He might have to return here in a few years to see how things were going. Yes... he might at that. He spurred his horse into a trot, riding at Lord Strathclyde's side. But his thoughts were elsewhere... in memories long forgotten.


	3. Chapter Two: and Beginnings

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Chapter Two

... and Beginnings

The Cradle of Civilization, circa 3000 b.c.e.:

_The old woman was still and cold. The small boy had pulled at her for what seemed like hours. She did not move, and he was hungry and thirsty. He crept out of the shadows and toddled into the hot, blistering sun of the midday, then crouched down in the street. He held out his hand as she had taught him and waited. Something would come along... something always did._

People passed by. They noticed him, but did not stop nor offer any food. He waited. His hand grew heavy and he was so very thirsty. He thought he would simply lie down in the street and sleep away his hunger. Insects buzzed about his head. The dust rose in little puffs about him, and he began to nod.

The daily temple procession noisily passed down the street. Eight guards, their weapons brandishing in the sunlight cleared the way. Four priests walked behind them, ringing their cymbals and chanting. Six slaves bearing a litter curtained with white linen, which fluttered slightly in the breeze, followed them.

"Halt!" The procession stopped suddenly and amidst the sudden confusion. As the slaves set the litter down as instructed, the priests gathered around, babbling and bowing. The guards took their positions about the litter, ready to swing into action if need be.

The boy lifted his head and saw her alight. The tall stern priestess of Nut stood in the dust of the street gazing at him. Her black hair hung heavy on her shoulders and she was clothed in white linen. Rings sparkled on her hands, and a great jeweled collar was about her neck. The priests gathered about her murmuring their concerns. "She should not be here... they should continue on... this was not a good idea." She waved them away distractedly and walked over to the boy.

He held up his hand to her. She gazed down at him, cocked her head to one side as if listening to something, and then crouched before him in the dust. She smiled and reached out to brush his dark hair out of his eyes. She gasped slightly. "This boy has my father's eyes!" She cupped his chin in her hand. "Who claims this child?" No one moved. No one spoke. No one dared to say a word. Behind her, one of the priests finally began babbling about the inappropriateness of her behavior. If she wished a child... there were several attached to the temple... he would be glad to provide her with whatever she desired. She waved him off, then picked the boy up... cradling him in her arms. She turned, walking back to the litter.

"Great Lady... this child is nothing... he is filthy. Do not lower yourself to handle him."

She laughed, "Filthy? ... I suppose, then, I shall have to bathe him!" She climbed once more into the litter giving directions for them to continue. Within the litter she turned all her attention to the small boy. "Ahh... my little one... are you hungry? ... Thirsty? Let us see... I have dates and honey cake and some cool clear water." She opened a basket and handed him a date. He started to bolt it down. "No, no little one ... slowly, slowly. That's right... And now some honey cake... just a bite. Here's the water... not too fast." The boy looked up at her and smiled.

Once they arrived at the great temple of Nut, she alighted from the litter carriing him through the temple complex and into her quarters. Still the priests buzzed about her, obviously at a loss to explain her strange behavior. Ignoring them, she entered her quarters and called to her slaves to prepare the bath.

The boy had never seen so much water in one place. Lotus flowers floated in the water of the stone cistern. One of the girls was ladling hot stones into the water to heat it. The water hissed as the stones were dropped in. The Lady set him on the edge of the bath and let her own clothes drop from her shoulders. Nude she entered the water, then turned and slowly eased the boy in. He was in awe of both the water and the pleasant heat. He leaned forward to sip. She laughed and told him "No, little one, not this water." Then she began to scrub him. Once satisfied that he was clean, she carried him out of the bath and one of the slaves approached with cotton cloth. The Lady wrapped the boy in the cloth then set him on her bed. She stood with her arms wide while her slaves dried her off, applied perfumed oils and re-dressed her. She dismissed the women to the far side of the room to their other duties and eased herself onto the bed, reclining on the cushions.

She smiled contentedly and brushed his damp hair out of his eyes once more. "What shall I do with you little one?" She laughed lightly. "... I suppose if I am going to keep you... I should give you a name... or, do you have a name, little one?"

The boy shook his head. The old woman had never called him anything he could remember.

The Lady smiled again. She looked over the food on a nearby platter, and carefully selecting a plump date, handed it to him. He nibbled on it as she had shown him earlier. She threw back her head and laughed heartily. "My... you are quite the little learner. I shall have to consider an appropriate name for you."

He pointed at her.

"What should you call me?" The Lady leaned close to him and whispered in his ear. "These fools call me all manner of names... 'Great Lady... Priestess of Nut... Voice of the Goddess... The Lady of Living Water Who Brings Life to the Desert' or some such nonsense. You, however, may call me Aja... that is what my mother used to call me. It means ... first daughter."

He snuggled against her and began to doze. As he was falling asleep, he could hear her humming a tune, and stroking his hair. Just as he drifted off... he could hear her say once more, "Whatever shall I call you?"

Alone in the Lady's quarters the following day the boy became restless. He began to wander through the building, watching the comings and goings of the priests and the slaves and the servants. Guards stood at all the entrances. He found his way to the large audience hall.

She was there, sitting in a great stone chair, listening to questions asked by a horde of petitioners. He could hear her clipped and tired answers to their pleas. She began to rub her forehead and move her head strangely as though hearing voices that no one else could hear. He heard the murmurings of the assembly. "She hears the voices of the gods." At her left hand, a great stone crystal began to glow. Her answers began to sound like a raging storm; her voice rose as if in answer.

The boy backed away. Behind him he heard the sounds of other children. He made his way over to them. Several older boys, their heads shaven like the priests, were in a circle poking at something with a long stick. He joined them and saw two scorpions fighting each other in the midst of the boys. The largest boy poked at them again with the stick, shoving the scorpions toward the small newcomer with a wicked laugh.

Without warning, the storm was upon them! Aja flew like a whirlwind among them, kicking the scorpions away! Her voice roared like thunder... a scream of desperation and madness! She whirled upon the frightened older boys who began to scatter and flee. She grabbed the oldest one, slamming him against the wall, holding him off the ground by his neck so that his feet dangled helplessly!

Her green eyes blazed, the small boy thought they almost seemed to glow, "Would you know death you pathetic little man?" she directed at her struggling victim. "Do you not realize the fragility of life?"

Around her several priests gathered, murmuring soft phrases. She paid them no mind. The little boy took several steps toward her and then reached out tentatively to her. At his touch she turned to look down at him, still holding the larger boy. Gradually her eyes softened ... the blazing green fire he thought he saw within them faded. She looked back at her terrified victim and slowly relaxed her grip, allowing him to slide to the floor. One of the priests quickly shuffled the gasping boy away.

Aja knelt down before the small child. She gently stroked his cheek. No priest moved to intervene. If she killed this one, no one would care. But there was no more madness. Instead, the storm seemed to have passed. The small one appeared to have a calming effect on the Voice of the Goddess. Perhaps they should cease their objections to his remaining with her.

She smiled warmly, then gathered him into her arms and rose. "Did I frighten you?" she asked quietly. When he nodded she held him closely and murmured, "I will never hurt you... I promise." She slowly returned to the audience hall with him still in her arms. She climbed the dais to the chair, picked up the crystal, which began glowing once more. "Enough for today..." She tossed her head proudly at the assemblage and left. Those present began to bow deeply as The Lady and her child passed by. They felt they had been in the presence of the gods. They knew great magic when they saw it.

Once back in her quarters, Aja set him on her bed and then sat beside him. She handed the glowing crystal to him. He peered into it, seeing a body of water so large it seemed to dwarf the great bowl of the sky. But it did have an edge. On a spit of golden sand he thought he could make out three children dancing hand in hand in hand. 'Round and 'round they danced, twisting in and out in a complicated pattern. Above them, the sun blazed. Aja took back the crystal and smiled at him. She casually tossed it from hand to hand, then wrapped it in a cloth and placed it in the large chest beside the bed.

"You will need to stay in my quarters little one. There are those out there who would kill you. I have seen it. So... however shall you occupy yourself?" 

She reached over to gather flowers from a pottery vessel. She shook the water off. "Have you ever made a flower chain?" She laughed, then showed his small hands how to accomplish the task. She directed him how to tie the knots in the stems so that the flowers all hung together. When they were all attached, she watched him connect the two ends. He gazed up at her proudly. "So what will you do with them little one?"

He thought for a moment and then placed the wreath on his own head. Aja laughed heartily, the shadows of the storm seemed finally gone. She hugged him. "So... you would decide your own destiny... a wise choice my little one... a wise choice." He laughed with her.

"You learn very quickly... perhaps that is who you are... the scholar ... the seeker of knowledge... Methos." 

She appeared to have made a decision. She turned to the chest, opened it and pulled out a wax surface and a small stylus. She settled herself once more onto the bed beside him. 

"You may be too small yet to learn this, but we can make a beginning." She marked on the wax with the stylus... the forms she drew were as nothing he had ever seen. When finished, she pointed at the first one and then at herself..."Aja, first daughter, guardian of small ones." 

He nodded. 

At the second one she pointed at him, "Methos, scholar... seeker of knowledge." 

He grinned up at her. 

At the third she said, "Water ... the cradle of life ... that which sustains." 

Methos nodded once more, understanding. He pointed at the fourth one. Aja grinned, "Fire ... the force of destruction ... forbidden knowledge. See how it shares some form with the sign for Methos." His eyes widened, he did see it. Then he saw the similarities between the mark for Aja and the one for water. He pointed to them and then looked up at her.

"Yes, little Scholar, you do see it! ... Enough for today... except..." She quickly wrote two more symbols on the wax. "There are forty-five symbols. They may be written in any order. But these two must always be written last." He looked at her quizzically. But she only smiled as she smoothed them all from the wax. "We will begin the lessons, tomorrow."


	4. Chapter Three: Lessons

**__**

Chapter Three

Lessons ...

Forteviot, Kingdom of All Scots, 853 c.e.:

It had been ten years since Methos had ridden north into the Scots kingdom. As with most decades, he seldom noticed they had passed, until he saw that those around him in this life had begun to grow older. Young Cedric, Lord Strathclyde's squire, had been made a knight. Lord Strathclyde had begun to have more gray in his hair and beard. Methos, of course, had not changed at all. It would soon be time to move on. Indeed, it was probably past time for him to do so.

But before he did, he had a desire to return to the court of Kenneth MacAlpin and see what had become of the elfin child who had stirred memories in him he had long ago forgotten. He had no intention, of course, of interfering... he usually just let pre-immortals be. They were of no consequence to him. But the child had often crossed his thoughts.

Convincing Lord Strathclyde to allow him to be the next emissary to the court... to be allowed to conduct new negotiations, had been the difficult part. He had to appear acquiescent to the idea, but not eager... and he had to make it seem as though the idea had come from someone other than himself. Finally Lord Strathclyde had agreed.

The next problem had been the size of the party. Methos would have preferred to go alone, but once again protocol and manners had interfered. Strathclyde finally agreed on just two servants to accompany him, but he had insisted on the inclusion of his nephew... young Robert Strathclyde, only recently made a squire. So Methos was saddled with two servants he did not need, and a young man whose safety became of prime importance.

"He is my heir, my brother's only son. I hope this journey will be a learning experience for him. I trust you will bring him safely back to me." 

Methos had, of course, agreed. It was, in the end, the only way he could get permission to go. And he wanted to go, despite his reservations.

The court had grown in the past decade. If anything, it seemed even more wealthy and stable than on his previous visit. There were more soldiers, more servants; even some of the tall Picts could be seen milling about in the courtyard as Methos' party entered. As before, he quickly assessed all pertinent details while smiling and bowing his way through the pleasantries with the king's herald and then following him into an antechamber. He removed his sword, at least the one for show, and followed the herald into King Kenneth's study.

Kenneth was seated at a wooden table studying some maps and discussing politics and alliances with his brother Donald. He settled back into his chair as Methos approached.

Methos bowed deeply.

Kenneth stroked his gray beard and studied the knight. Did he even recall him, Methos wondered, or was he simply assessing him. Methos said nothing; it was impolite to address the king without permission. He had played the game of politics for millennia. He knew and understood the forms and protocols that had to be observed. He also knew the dangers of breaking them.

Finally Kenneth spoke. "You are welcome here. How has my friend Lord Strathclyde fared since last we spoke?"

"My Lord is well." Methos answered. "He has instructed me to give you this token of friendship." He motioned to Robert who approached and handed him a small chest. Methos took it, opened it for the king to see the fine piece of jewelry the chest contained.

Kenneth looked at it almost disinterestedly and waved for one of his servants to take the chest and set it nearby. He, too, knew the forms and protocols of power. Methos recognized the shrewdness of the Scots king. No wonder he had been so successful in his campaigns and alliances. But, would his kingdom outlive him? Methos had his doubts. Nevertheless, the negotiations might prove an interesting game.

Later that day, having dismissed Robert to check on their rooms, belongings and servants, Methos finally had time to wander about without escort. As the ambassador, he had both more freedom and less. He was far too visible. Everyone at court probably knew he was. But, that very visibility also gave him the ability to wander where he pleased.

There was no sense of _her_ in the outer courtyards where he had found her before. There was only the hustle and bustle of court life. There were children, but not nearly so many as before. Methos approached a lute player sitting on the stone retaining wall of the well. He stood nearby listening to the strains of lilting music as the musician attempted to get a particular phrase just right. The musician looked up at him.

"Working hard," Methos offered.

"Yes, Lord, King Kenneth has ordered special music in your honor for tonight's feast. I fear I may not finish this piece in time."

"I am certain both it and you will be sufficient to the task." Methos smiled at him, then turned and said off-handedly, "There were many more children about when I was here before."

"Yes, but the king has made marriages for most of them as they grew older. He has built alliances among the clans that will last for many years. Most are gone now. Some few are still brought here, but not so many as at first."

Methos nodded, of course... time had moved on. The children he had met were no longer children. They would be in their own homes now... many with their own children. He thanked the musician and continued his walk. It was for the best. The one thing he did not need was to become personally involved. Especially now that it was time he moved on. Yet, he sensed he was disappointed. He had wanted to see her again. He had wanted to see if she still held that spark of magic that had lingered about her. That spark, which had reminded him of the long-forgotten Aja.

He entered the guest hall and was climbing the stairs to the upper floor to find his rooms when he sensed her. She was sitting on a bench beneath a window in the upper hallway. Sunlight poured in about her and glistened on the dust mites in the air. It was as though small twinkling faerie lights kept watch about her.

Methos did not approach, but took in every detail of her. Her dark hair was clasped at the neck and fell straight down her back unbraided. She was still so very small... still so very much a child... albeit one of about fifteen if he figured correctly. She sat slumped in the bench, her head bowed over the parchment she held in one hand. With her other, she was lightly touching it and tracing the letters and words she saw. She wore a dark gray dress with no adornment. Indeed, she wore no jewelry of any sort. Of course not! ... Methos recalled that her grandfather, Fergus McCurdy, had promised no dowry. It would appear that nothing had changed in that regard. She brushed absently at strands of hair which had escaped the clasp and which were falling over her eyes.

At the sound of booted men in the hall, she glanced quickly about her, rolled up the parchment, and hid it quickly beneath her overtunic. She continued to sit as still and as small and as quietly as she could. She seemed to hope no one would notice her.

But she was not so lucky. One of the men sidled over to her, his voice teasing and rough, "Ahh... Little Bird... how are we today?" He settled himself onto the bench next to her.

His companion slapped at him, "Collin... you know the king will have your head if you touch her."

"And will you tell him?" 

"Not I, but the walls have ears."

"Ahh... but I am simply greeting the Little Bird... right my girl?"

She did not move but sat trembling on the bench. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be holding her breath.

"Besides," the man continued as he stroked her hair roughly, "she will be mine. No one else at this court would dare make an offer. I have seen to that. Old McCurdy has said he will never offer a dowry. She brings nothing to a marriage except herself."

"Then why take her?" his friend asked.

"Because she pleases me."

From his vantage point Methos knew they had not seen him. He considered making his presence known, but decided it might be better if he did not.

""Collin..." his friend insisted, "we need to go. This is not a good idea."

"I suppose..." he leaned into the girl and whispered in her ear, "Soon Little Bird." Then he rose and the two men went laughing on their way. They had failed to see Methos.

The girl opened her eyes and let out a long breath. Then she pulled the parchment out once more and returned to studying it. Methos slowly and quietly approached. Every instinct he possessed yelled at him that this was not a good idea.

She glanced up at him and gasped, the parchment dropped from her startled hands onto the floor. Methos leaned down to retrieve it and held it a moment, looking it over.

"You read Latin..." he tried to sound casual, pleasant.

The girl shook her bowed head. She clasped and unclasped her fingers.

Methos glanced once more at the parchment, then handed it back to her. She looked around fearfully, then accepted it, rolled it up and once more hid it in her dress. She was clearly nervous.

"My thanks, Sir." Her voice cracked nervously. She rocked back and forth slightly and closed her eyes.

Methos looked about him. "You cannot read at all, can you?"

She shook her head, still rocking.

He thought for a moment, then said casually, "I plan to sit at the well and enjoy the warm sunshine. Sometimes when I sit in the sun, I write letters in the dust. Someone who sat nearby might learn to read if she were interested..." His voice trailed off. When she looked up at him, her green eyes wide in understanding, he smiled warmly, then pivoted about and headed back to the courtyard.

He had sat there for about a quarter of an hour when she joined him. She sat as far away as she could to still be able to see the letters he began to draw in the dust. "These are Latin letters... like on the parchment... do you speak Latin?" She shook her head. "No matter. Each letter can be a number of sounds. Once you know them, and what they sound like, you can sound out groups of them and hear the words you know. Now this is an 'A'." He glanced over at her and was rewarded by a shy smile. She nodded and he continued the lesson.

For the next several days, Methos split his time between his duties as ambassador, his negotiations with Kenneth, and his lessons with the girl. As the days had gone by, she had proven to be a swift learner. By the third lesson, she was already writing out words she knew, excitedly pointing at things around her, saying them slowly, then writing the letters she heard in the dirt. Methos nodded his encouragement. Something of the elfin child of long ago seemed once more to glimmer within her. She would clap her hands in delight as some new word came to mind. Gradually, over the days she had moved closer to him, though she still kept her distance. At last she dared to pull out her precious parchment and sound out a few words written on it.

"_Deo... patris... filius... spiritus... sanctus... amen..._ Father Padraic says these words." She smiled in understanding.

Methos nodded, "It is a prayer for the church service."

"I stole it from him... was that wicked of me?" She looked at Methos seriously. "He never missed it. It was just something he was working on. He dropped it one day when he was crossing the courtyard and I... picked it up..." She grinned and shrugged. "I just never returned it. I wanted to know what it said. I thought if I worked hard enough, the letters would one day make sense."

Methos chuckled, "It was much the same for me when I learned to read."

Their conversation was rudely interrupted by the approach of Collin McClarendon. The girl immediately seemed to go back into her shy shell. Methos straightened and glared back at the bullying Scot.

"This girl will be mine Sir Edward! King Kenneth will soon make his decision. I do not approve of her wasting time in this... this... frivolity!" McClarendon snatched the parchment from her hands and shredded it, flinging the pieces away. The he stomped at the written letters in the dust, sweeping his feet about to erase them. He leaned in toward Methos, threateningly; "She will be mine! She shall marry me! She will bear my children! ... You have no rights here! ... _You_... have no interests in this matter!"

McClarendon finally allowed himself to be calmed by his companion and led off. But he was still waving his arms in anger. 

Methos seethed inwardly. But he knew McClarendon was right. The girl truly was not his concern. Yet her fate seemed a dark one. McClarendon would wed her, ravish her, beat her down, scream at her when no children were ever born, and perhaps, if she were lucky, put her away to die old and alone in some convent for that fact alone. But Methos could not interfere. He would not interfere. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Interference in the fates of pre-immortals was just not something he cared to do. It was his survival that was paramount. If he became involved in this, he might be exposed. And so might the girl... and she was far too young to survive if anything happened to her now. He could see no solution.

He looked back over at her. She had splashed some water on the stone wall and was absently making marks in the small pool of water, gradually drawing the water into symbols. Once finished, she smiled wanly at Methos, "I believe our lessons are finished." She rose and walked dejectedly away.

Methos glanced down at what she had written. Two symbols... as old as time... from the dawn of the world sparkled for a moment in the sun. He touched them even as they evaporated in the sunlight. He rubbed his hand over the stone to be certain no stain of their existence would remain and watched her vanish into the great hall.

***

Methos finally reined in his horse sharply and dismounted. He stomped about in the grass, kicking and swatting at it and the branches of bushes in frustration. He had stomped off to the stables after the altercation at the well, had his horse saddled, and had ridden out of the timber fortress as though the wind itself were after him. He was angry... angry at everything, but mostly with himself for giving in to his anger. Sometimes the old Methos boiled just beneath the surface of his outward civility. Sometimes he still wanted to just lash out at the world and all its injustices. Sometimes he just wanted to... he forced himself to take deep breaths. 

He needed to meditate... he needed to find that calm center that would allow him to find some way to control the situation. He dropped to the ground and crossed his legs, attempting to find that inner calm. Time passed and at last he found it. When he opened his eyes, he realized several hours had passed. The sun was already beginning to wane in the west. He needed to get back.

Not only that, but he thought he might finally have figured out a way to foil McClarendon's plans for the girl. It was risky, and it was not something he really wanted to do. But if it succeeded, she might, at least, live to grow up with some bit of joy and respect. Everything hinged on King Kenneth and whether or not he could convince the king of his plan. Kenneth was a shrewd negotiator and it would not be easy.

Methos remounted his horse and cantered back toward the court with a lighter heart and a sense of purpose. Once there he entered his rooms to retrieve the bag of gold coins he had stashed in his belongings. Then he strode confidently over to the great hall to request an audience with King Kenneth. This had to work... 

***

Two hours later, King Kenneth sent for McClarendon and the girl. From below, in the great hall, Methos could hear the sounds of preparation for tonight's feast. He stood leaning against the wall of Kenneth's study, out of sight of anyone entering. His posture was not appropriate, but at the moment he did not care.

McClarendon entered confidently. He did not see Methos, nor did the girl when she followed him in. Kenneth stood thoughtfully by a window, but turned and nodded at the pair in greeting. It was obvious McClarendon could hardly restrain himself. It was imprudent of him to speak first, but his question came barreling out. "You have heard then from Old McCurdy?"

Kenneth shot a sharp glance at his retainer. One simply did not address a king without permission.

McClarendon bowed his head, "My apologies your majesty."

Kenneth came closer until he stood before McClarendon. "We have heard nothing recently from Fergus McCurdy, but we do not doubt his denial of a dowry and lands for the girl has changed. The child is likely just one of many from his household. He does not nor has he ever held her in much regard. He has always indicated that her fate was mine to decide. McCurdy believes that only a man worthy of the girl would take her as she is."

McClarendon bowed and spread out his hands, "I am that man my king. I ask nothing but the honor or her hand."

Kenneth snorted and walked over to the girl, "And what about you lass... what do you desire?"

The girl curtsied low, "Whatever his majesty decides." Her voice was quiet and filled with sorrow.

Kenneth placed his hands behind his back and thoughtfully paced back to the window. Nearby, his herald and Father Padraic shifted about nervously. Methos continued to watch quietly, awaiting the king's final decision.

Kenneth turned back to the girl. "And if it were your decision?" He gestured widely. "What do you wish of your life?"

The girl swallowed and gazed at the king nervously. McClarendon cleared his throat. She glanced over at him and her shoulders sagged in despair. "I wish only to be a proper wife your majesty."

"_Gods_," thought Methos, "_what have they done to her_."

It has come to our attention," the king continued, "that someone else has expressed an interest in marrying you. Someone who also requires no dowry and no lands." He motioned to Methos.

As Methos stepped forward, McClarendon's anger seemed to explode. "You!" He turned back to the king. "Your majesty, this man is a foreigner... he has no business in the affairs of our kingdom. He..."

"Silence!" Kenneth roared. "Speak out of turn again and we might well take your head and put it on a pike as a warning to others who would dare tell us how to run our own affairs."

Methos smiled.

"Now then," Kenneth looked at the girl and continued softly, "You have a choice girl. Would you choose Collin McClarendon or Sir Edward Gray?"

The girl's face widened in confusion. She looked at each man on either side of her. "I... I... it is truly my choice?"

The king smiled at her and nodded.

The girl turned to face McClarendon. No one had ever given her a choice in anything. She still did not quite believe that the long feared marriage with this vulgar man did not have to happen. If it was somehow a jest of the king, and she chose the other only to be told she must still marry McClarendon, his anger at her would be great. She turned to face Methos. She did not know this man. While he seemed kind, he was an unknown and she feared that there was much about him that was dangerous. And yet... she cocked her head to one side and appeared to be listening to something for a moment. She faced the king once more and said confidently, "If it is truly my choice, my king, I would choose Sir Edward Gray." 

McClarendon exploded, "No! My king... your majesty... please."

The king glared at his retainer. "We have suffered your presence long enough. You are dismissed from our sight."

McClarendon glared back, but bowed and left the room.

"I fear Sir Edward, you have made an enemy this night." 

Methos nodded. It was to be expected.

Kenneth motioned to Father Padraic to bring the banns. The king settled in his chair and motioned to Methos where to sign. After he had signed, Kenneth did likewise.

"I believe an exchange in promise is called for." Kenneth leaned back in his chair.

Methos laid the heavy leather pouch on the king's table, then pulled a ring from the little finger of his right hand. He took hold of the girl's right hand and placed it on her forefinger. "As promise of a marriage." A marriage, of course, he had no intention of fulfilling. "And you will continue to be her guardian until my return?" He gazed evenly at Kenneth.

"As if she were our own daughter. We swear to you. No man shall touch her. She is your bride when next you come to our court to claim her." Kenneth smiled gently at the girl. "Sir Edward fears you are a bit young for him to marry at this time, but he wished to ensure both your safety and your hand. He must return south on the morrow and you will remain here. 

"We are even now having your belongings moved into a chamber closer to our family's rooms. You will sit with them at supper and be a daughter of our household. Now take his hand, girl, and go into the feast. We have held it up long enough."

She smiled and Methos saw a glimmer of joy in her eyes for the first time. She turned toward him and he raised her hand to his lips. He kissed it ever so gently and led her out into the hall.

"You will truly wed me Sir Edward?"

"I have so promised, " Methos answered without commitment. He paused and smiled at the girl. "While I am gone, I have asked the king to find you a proper tutor."

She nodded at him eagerly.

"By the way, since we are to be married," he smiled warmly at her; "I should like to know what to call you."

She laughed, and Methos thought it sounded like tinkling bells. "My grandfather told me, before I came to this place, that people would laugh at my name. 'Your mother,' he said, 'was a foreign-born woman with strange ideas and spoke an alien tongue. Your road will be hard lass, but if a man is truly worthy of you, he will ask for nothing and pay a king's ransom to have your favor.'"

"And what name did your mother give you?"

"Aella ... he said, she called me Aella before she died."

Methos chuckled. "The word for elf... or for faerie."

The girl nodded, "Sometimes I still seem to hear her voice in my head. When I was young, the others thought I was touched. They made so much fun of me I stopped listening to her."

Methos nodded thoughtfully and gently caressed her cheek. "Do you still hear her?"

Aella shrugged and shook her head, "Not so much anymore."

"Do you even remember me from when you were younger?"

Aella cocked her head to one side and pursed her brows. "I am not certain... did I give you flowers once?"

"Methos laughed heartily as he led her into the hall, "Oh that you did, Aella, that you did."

Early the next morning, Methos and his party left. Aella had bid him goodbye, still excited about the change in her status at the court. Already there was a new confidence in her. He held her hands and promised to write to her. He bent down to kiss her gently on the forehead and was surprised when she suddenly stood on tiptoe and his kiss met her lips. For a moment, it seemed to him, that her eyes sparkled a bright green. Methos paused. Then she laughed, clapped her hands together and stepped back. She was still so very young... still so much a child.

He nodded to King Kenneth, trusting that the king was man of his word. Aella would have tutors, status, and protection... anything she wanted... anything she needed. Methos mounted and rode out the gate.

The next problem would be to explain to Lord Strathclyde just how the tenor of the negotiations had changed. His master might not be so pleased at how things had gone. Methos would likely have to remain in his service for some time. He would have to consider aging his appearance. He always hated that. It was so much easier to just "die" and move on.

Methos glanced back at the girl before she vanished to his sight. She still might prove to be a complication he really did not need. And as for McClarendon... Methos had no worries about the mortal clansman. He would enjoy taking his head... not for any quickening... but just to rid the world of him. Perhaps Collin McClarendon would not cross his path again... but if he did, he would regret it. Meanwhile, his road lay before him, and, as before, the girl had stirred forgotten memories of long ago.


	5. Chapter Four: and Questions

**__**

Chapter Four

... and Questions

Cradle of Civilization, circa 3000 b.c.e. about three years later:

__

Methos sat cross-legged on Aja's great bed concentrating on his task. Days had passed into months and the months had passed into years. It had taken three years for him to learn and to be able to reproduce from memory all forty-five of the symbols correctly. They were so very complex. From being able only to write four or five on the wax before running out of room, he could now get all of them on... and, of course, the final two. She was very strict about that. But she had yet to teach him what they meant.

"The answers, Scholar, are in the other forty-five. All that makes them up can be found in the others. Once you find the pattern, once you discern it, the answer will be yours."

And so each day, he wrote the first symbols in varying order, followed by the final two. Each day she asked him what they meant. And each day she laughed at his answer and told him to keep trying. Then she erased all the symbols and the next day he would begin again.

Her raging storms still came over her. On those occasions, some slave would come to fetch him. He alone seemed to be able to bring her back to herself. He no longer feared the storms. But he did fear her. Or perhaps he feared for her. He was not certain.

Once he had awakened to find her pacing the room. Her words were meaningless. "Oh my mother what have you done... what have you done? We are all of us cursed... cursed! Father, oh Father, the sword is not the answer. Put it away, put it away! ... My brother... this is wrong. We cannot do this to our father. Ohhh... my beloved, you are lost to me... and I cannot find you! ... Why must I be doomed to walk the earth? ... Let me rest, let me rest." She collapsed sobbing onto the floor.

Methos had climbed out of the bed and had hugged her tightly as she continued to rock on the stone floor in the moonlight. "Whatever shall I do? ... Whatever shall I do? They will kill him. I cannot stop it. I cannot stop the killing... Tell me what you want me to do?" Finally her babblings had ceased, and he had climbed into her lap had let her rock him. At long last, they both had slept. They had still been on the floor when the slaves had come in with the morning meal.

__

Methos started suddenly as he heard slams and yells from the outer chambers. He glanced up at Aja as she whirled in motioning to the slaves. "Flee for your lives, you fools! Death is coming! Death is on his way!" The servants fled.

She paced back and forth between the door and the window. "Fools, they do not believe me. But I can see it. Methos... come to the window. You will see it, too." Methos came and saw for himself that there were indeed plumes of black smoke on the horizon. "I have to leave this place," she murmured as she rested her hands on his small shoulders. "I cannot leave you here. They will kill you. And somehow... somehow you must survive." She turned him to face her. "Above all else... you must survive!"

Methos handed her the tablet. "I have finished for today, Aja."

She took the wax from him and nervously tapped the stylus on it. She nodded as she checked his writing. "Yes... yes... yes... now Scholar what do the last mean?"

Methos took a deep breath; he had puzzled over what to say this time. "Tomorrow will make us one?"

She laughed, "No... not quite. ..." She erased the symbols and tossed the wax and stylus onto the bed instead of handing them back to him. Then she opened the chest and began to rummage through it. She pulled out some roughly woven cloth and held it up, shaking it. It was some sort of clothing. She glanced over at him and nodded. "This will work. Remove your linen and put this on."

Methos did so. He had learned that to stop and ask questions when she gave him directions was useless. Aja wanted him to ask questions, but only when it suited her. And only questions to which he could not puzzle out an answer. If he asked one to which she thought he should already know the answer, she would simply smile and shake her head mysteriously. This time, he understood they were leaving... and not as themselves. The rough clothing would hide who they were from those she feared.

She pulled out some additional garments, dropped her own linen and began to dress. Her garments were dusty colored, faded, old. Next she pulled out rough, well-worn sandals for her feet. After putting them on, she glanced at him and then down at his bare feet. She grasped a knife from the fruit platter and cut off some of the length of the shapeless garment he had on. Part of it she wrapped about his waist. Then she motioned him to sit down. She tore the remainder of the cloth into strips and began to wrap his feet. "Not as good as sandals... but it will have to do for now. You will understand when we get into the desert." The last of the cloth she wound about his head.

Next she placed a bag over one of her own shoulders and began to fill it with fruit, wrapped cheese and honey cake from a nearby platter. She took the crystal, unwrapped it, gazed into it, then wrapped it back up and also placed it into the bag. She pulled out a water bag, filled it and placed it across the other shoulder. Then she paused to look around. Noting her jeweled collar and rings dropped on the floor, she gathered up the rings and dropped them into the bag. She picked up the collar, seemed to consider it a moment, then used the knife to pry the jewels out of it. These she placed in the bag. The collar she tossed on the bed.

All the while she kept glancing at the increasing confusion outside the window, gauging how much time they had before the invaders would be upon them. Finally she seemed satisfied as to her preparations.

She held Methos by the shoulders and said sternly, "Listen to me Scholar, from this moment you must do as I say. Exactly as I say. You will walk where I tell you to walk. You will sleep when I tell you to sleep. You will crouch in the mud if I tell you to do so. If you do not... they will kill you. Look, listen, learn... I will protect you. I will teach you. But you must do exactly as I say. No questions asked. Do you understand me?"

Methos nodded.

She glanced once more out the window. "Civilizations rise and civilizations fall. Change is inevitable. It is the one constant of the world. I should have left this place long ago. My voices have been warning me... screaming ever more loudly, but I did not wish to leave... not yet. At first I thought only to find a safe place for you to grow up. Then I came to care for you. Now I dare not leave you behind." 

She smiled at him. "You are far too important to me to ever lose you. Now... where is that staff." 

Methos pointed to the corner. He had found it once and had asked her what it was for. She had smiled that mysterious smile of hers and said nothing.

They rushed hurriedly through the temple complex and out into the gathering gloom of evening. Around them chaos reigned as people ran about screaming in fear at the onslaught of the invading army. Aja paused and knelt down to take up a handful of dirt. She began to smear first Methos and then herself with it. Satisfied with the results she grasped his hand and led him out into the desert, carefully keeping to the shadows. To all appearances, they were just two of the poor fleeing in the night. They were no one anyone took notice of. They were no one of any importance.

They walked throughout the night. The sounds of death and slaughter gradually faded and by morning there was only sand and the great bowl of the sky above. Methos began to stumble from fatigue. Aja swept him into her arms and kept moving... further and further away from the carnage.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky and the heat began to rise, she stopped in the shade of a rock outcropping. She set Methos in the small shade offered by the rocks and then seated herself. She dug a honey cake from the bag, broke off a small piece for herself and handed the rest to him.

"Questions? I will answer three, if you have three to ask."

Methos nibbled at the honey cake and considered all that had happened. Finally he asked his first question, "Why am I important?"

"All children are important. They are the future of the world. But you are important to me. All those whom I ever loved either died or were lost to me long ago. Did I ever tell you that you have my father's eyes?"

Methos nodded, it was the first thing she had ever said to him.

"I loved my father. I did the unthinkable... I killed him... because he asked it of me, because he begged it of me... I killed him. With his own sword, I cut off his head. His spirit still haunts my every thought. He could no longer live with his crimes, and so I live with the memory of both my crime and his... all of his.

"My father was a great seeker of hidden truths. He once told me he had traveled to all the corners of the earth. He had sailed across the great oceans of the world and walked in lands whose day was dark as night. You are much as I remember him before the world dissolved in chaos around us. I did not plan to love you... I should never have interfered... your path was clear, death hung about you that day I found you in the street, but I stepped aside that day and chose to change the game forever and teach you some of what I once learned at my mother's knee. 

"Now I have no choice. I will not let you die. Not yet... not yet. The knowledge I teach you must never be lost. You must become capable of your own survival, so that this knowledge survives." Aja sighed deeply, as though the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. " I fear my time to die as my father once did is all too near. I am weary beyond measure... and the voices of those I once loved and those whom I have lost call ever more loudly to me from their graves. I will join them soon, and I will, at long last, rest."

Methos considered this and all else that had happened. He swallowed the water Aja gave him, grateful for its cool, refreshment. He glanced up at the sun and absently rubbed the top of his head.

"I know, little scholar, I know... it is hot. Let us save the next two questions for later. Lie down, my little scholar, it is time to sleep." She swept her cloak over the two of them and lay beside him, cradling him protectively in her arms. In the heat of the desert midday... they slept.

When Methos awakened, the afternoon shadows had lengthened and the heat of midday had lessened somewhat. Aja sat near him, drawing absently in the sand. When she heard him stir, she offered once more the water, and then a piece of cheese. Methos looked at what she had written. Life and death. She had written one above the other.

"Now go around and look at them from the other direction." she coaxed gently. When he did so, she asked, "Do you see it?" And he did see it. It was the same... one was a mirror image of the other. He looked up at her.

"What does that mean?"

"They are part and parcel of one another. Where one ends, the other begins. Now, Scholar, write Life below death."

He did so and looked at her without understanding. Then he went around to see how they looked from the opposite direction. Again, they were mirror images... but in a different way. Methos shook his head... he was more confused than ever. He looked once more at Aja and shrugged.

"Last question? ... I see it in your eye..."

"What does it mean, to write them this way?"

Aja laughed heartily, "Oh, my little scholar... you will see one day... you will see!" Then she quickly wrote the mysterious final pair. "And... today's guess?"

Methos puzzled over them a moment. As with the symbols of life and death, he tried to see if they were somehow related, if they, too, were mirror images. They were not. But there was some relationship between them he did not yet grasp. Something that continued to elude him. Finally he gazed up at Aja. "Once all life was one?"

Aja nodded thoughtfully, "Close, my little scholar, close..." She reached over and erased the symbols as she smiled mysteriously.

Soon after, they began their nightly journey further into the great desert.


	6. Chapter Five: Vengeance

**__**

Chapter Five

Vengeance ... 

****

Strathclyde, 853 c.e.:

Methos had been right. Lord Strathclyde was furious. "You presume too much!" Strathclyde thundered. Methos merely stood, head bowed, silent, and apparently obsequious. "You had no right to exchange that gold for a bride for yourself! I do not care how much you thought it might improve relations between our land and his!"

"My lord," Methos meekly offered, "something had to be done. It pleased King Kenneth to think he had discovered a way out of his dilemma with my help. A substitute husband had to be offered and I had no right to offer your nephew." Methos shrugged, "I am, after all, not nearly so skilled a negotiator as yourself, my lord." Methos smiled humbly. "I will endeavor to repay your lordship... I do have some resources."

"My nephew..." Strathclyde turned, "and that is the only reason I do not immediately have you flogged or banished." Strathclyde chuckled and waved one hand at his retainer as if to say his anger had banished. "Now explain to me exactly what occurred on the return trip?"

Methos bowed, "I will try, my lord... I will try."

***

On the third day after they had left Kenneth's court, Methos and his party camped on the banks of a small stream. The water trickled over small stones, and mist rose over the last of the receding highlands behind them. Bright pinks and oranges were evident in the glorious sunset, which stretched out on their west. They had begun to reach the Low Countries and were feeling much relaxed. They would soon be in their own lands. 

Methos had chosen the campsite with his usual thoroughness. It was not one that could be easily attacked from any direction. Yet even as the two servants set about ordering the camp and Robert was seeing to the horses, Methos uneasily paced the perimeter. Something was not quite right. He had camped too many times in too many places to ever feel entirely at ease, but something was definitely wrong. Still... nothing happened.

The servants announced supper... fire-roasted rabbit trapped earlier... flat bread baked on the hot stones... the last of the ale from the stores they had received from King Kenneth for their journey home. Robert clapped his hands and whooped in youthful anticipation and Methos turned to him, "Be silent!"

"What is it Sir Edward?" Robert grasped his sword hilt as if any moment the hills would erupt in waves of blue-painted warriors.

"Nothing... yet." Methos turned back to peer into the gathering gloom. He slowly turned to gaze in all directions. "But... I feel... uneasy."

"You are an old man, who jumps at shadows," laughed Robert and returned to the fire to eat his dinner. "My uncle has great faith in your abilities as a warrior and bodyguard, but I have never seen you in action." He pulled at the rabbit meat and licked his singed fingers. "For a fierce warrior, you spend a great deal of time in watching and waiting. When do you fight?"

"Only when it is necessary, replied Methos. "You would do well to learn that."

The evening shadows lengthened and the stars shone down on them. There was no moon. Methos continued to slowly pace about the perimeter. Finally he turned and strode swiftly to the fire, kicking it and stomping out the flames.

The servants mumbled and Robert looked at him sharply. "No sense in making targets of ourselves," Methos murmured quietly. "Draw your sword, Robert and lie ready. They are coming."

"Who?" The young man fumbled a bit with his sword.

"I am not entirely certain. Stay in your bedroll. Wait for my signal." Methos reclined against a rock, drew his own sword, and waited in the darkness. If he had been by himself, he would simply have vanished into that darkness... but neither Robert nor the servants would survive if he left, he was certain of that. Robert had wanted to see the "fierce warrior" in action... well he might just get his chance. Methos flexed his muscles, one after the other, warming up for what he knew was coming.

They came from the south, hoping, Methos figured, to throw their victims off guard to be attacked from an unlikely direction. They screamed ancient battle cries into the night, to startle and frighten Methos' party. If they had been sleeping, it might have worked, or... at the very least... slowed the Britons' reaction to the attack.

Methos, however, was more than ready. Even as the men approached the campsite, he moved swiftly toward them, and swiftly plunged his blade into the first man he encountered. Removing it quickly, he elbowed the next man in the head and then swung the blade about, taking off one of his opponent's arms in the process. With surprise on his face, and gushing blood, the man dropped like a stone.

Methos spared him not a second glance but whirled in a practiced motion and swept his sword into the next man. He was dead before he hit the ground. Another circled around while Methos was thus engaged and tried to attack him from the rear. Methos swiftly turned the sword in his hands and impaled the last man on it.

Finally he spared a look about him. Three men were backing away warily; they had only cudgels, and were definitely deciding that retreat might be the better part of valor. Methos roared at them and took a menacing step toward them as he brandished his great sword at them one more time. The three turned and ran. Behind them a fourth man yelled at his men... urging them to stay and fight.

Methos quickly glanced over at Robert who was sparring with an opponent. The squire and his attacker were swinging and parrying as if this were a game. "Kill him, and be done with him!" yelled the immortal and threw his knife into the man's leg.

Robert's eyes widened as he realized his opponent was no longer fighting... that he was slowly falling to his knees in pain. Robert hesitated, then thrust his sword into his opponent and slowly pulled it out. The man fell over dead.

Behind him, Methos' glance showed the two servants were beating another man into the ground with anything handy.

Instantly, he returned his attention to the fourth man, standing some ten feet away. There was something familiar about him ... then he realized what it was. "McClarendon," Methos whispered and a black expression, one filled with darkness and rage, appeared on his face. Then he smiled wickedly and motioned with one hand in invitation to McClarendon to come... come meet his doom!

McClarendon nodded, adjusted the grip on his sword, and circled slowly closer. "I am eagerly awaiting this. I am glad it is I who will kill you foreigner, and not those worthless men I hired. You ruined my plans for the girl. You have ruined everything." He circled back the other way, carefully staying out of reach. His eyes flickered over Methos' movements, assessing him... assessing his skills.

"_No matter_," thought the immortal, "_I betray nothing he can use._" He waited. His own movements were economical, carefully hiding his true intention. He had fought too many battles... McClarendon's skills, while formidable, were as nothing compared to his own. Finally, Methos purposely stumbled slightly, then dropped his right shoulder as if showing a minor weakness.

McClarendon lunged. Methos swept the sword about him, quickly deflecting McClarendon's and then plunged his own sword deeply into the man with an upthrust that completely disemboweled his surprised opponent. And then... just because he wanted to... just because it felt so good... just because it had been so very long... he quickly pulled it out and swung the sword about him with one hand to remove the mortal's head. It had been some time since he had last fought an immortal... and even though there was no quickening here... just the satisfaction of the stroke felt very, very good. 

Methos screamed into the night... a cry he had last uttered thousands of years before in a language he no longer spoke. With that utterance, the addictive veil of barbarity slowly began to lift.

He leaned on his sword and breathed heavily, then glanced back at the others who were standing and staring open-mouthed. Methos sighed inwardly, if they had thought that had been a show... what if McClarendon _had_ been an immortal.

He rose, ripped a piece of cloth from the clothing of one of his victims, and, with a practiced movement, cleaned the blood and gore from his sword and walked over to the others. "Everyone all right?" He sheathed the weapon.

Robert nodded, but he held his arm awkwardly, and there was a great gash on his cheek. The servants also had a number of minor cuts, bruises, and slices.

Methos cupped Robert's chin in one of his hands and nodded. "That will leave a scar." He dropped the boy's chin and rummaged in his packs for his ointments and bandages. He chose one and smeared it liberally onto the young man's face then looked at the wound on his arm. "This, I fear, will require stitches." He pulled out a needle and sinew and, after cleansing the wound with some water, he applied some of the ointment to the wound and then began stitching.

"Butcher... and healer," finally offered Robert quietly.

"Well," Methos answered, "in battle, men are injured. It is wise to know how to help them afterwards."

"But there is not a scratch on you! How? Why?" Robert shook his head.

"Lots of practice!" said Methos soberly as he began to bandage Robert's arm, "Way too much practice!" Once finished, he turned to check the servants' minor wounds.

Behind him, Robert still sat quietly. Finally he looked over to Methos; "I killed that man."

Nodding, Methos, continued for him, "... or he would have killed you."

"But I killed him... I never killed anyone before... I never saw anyone killed before... I never saw anyone dead before..." His voice faded away.

Methos strode back to him and stood gazing around at the now quiet night. "It can be a hard thing to kill a man," he finally told the boy quietly. "A hard thing."

"You did not seem to have any trouble!"

"Well... as I said, I have had too much practice." He waved around him, a touch of his anger still with him. "Do you think I wanted this? If you had not been with me, they might have lived. I was protecting you."

"Why would that Scotsman, McClarendon have wanted me? It was you he was angry at. It was you he came for! Would you have run away and let him live, too?" Robert's voice rose in anger and frustration.

"No," Methos admitted, "... him I would have killed anyway." He walked over to the Scots' body and picked up a pike one of the men had attempted to use. He plunged it into the ground, then grasping McClarendon's head by its long hair, slammed it onto the point of the pike. He grunted in pleasure. There were still remnants of barbarity about him.

"Why?" Robert walked up to him.

"Because he displeased me!" he yelled. Then Methos pivoted and stomped away, down to the stream to wash. He needed time to calm himself down. He needed time for his veneer of civility to reassert itself. Along the way, he gathered the weapons of the dead, and flung them angrily into the water, wishing that it were deep enough, and the current were strong enough to wash them away downstream as well as it washed the blood from his hands.

Sometimes the man he had been just did not want to go away. Sometimes... he did not want him to.

***

"The rest of the trip home was... uneventful?" asked Lord Strathclyde.

Methos bowed to him and nodded. "Yes, my lord."

"But Robert swears that now he wants to forego his knight's training and be a priest!" exclaimed Strathclyde. "What am I to do?"

"Forbid his request, my Lord," Methos shrugged as if in answer to the question. "After all, he does need your permission."

"I suppose." Strathclyde grunted and shook his head. "Still, I fear he may never become even a capable warrior. It would seem that what he saw of your expertise has quite put a distaste for battle into him."


	7. Chapter Six: and Mercy

**__**

Chapter Six

... and Mercy

The Great Desert, circa 3000 b.c.e. later that same month:

__

Aja moved slowly through the group of mud brick buildings that made up the small town on the banks of a muddy river. Gnats buzzed hungrily about. The water was slow and stagnant, and smelled of rotten things. Little foliage or greenery grew here. There was little movement amongst the buildings... but from within them, they were watched by questioning eyes. Obviously, few people traveled into this area, especially in the heat of the day.

Stopping at the village well, Aja drew clean water to replace that in her bag. No one seemed to mind, but she glanced about her, trying to gauge the temper of this small town. Then she sat down on the wall of the well to rest. Methos climbed up beside her. The leather strap she had tied to his wrist some time ago chafed slightly.

"It is so I do not lose you... that you do not wander off if I am not looking," she had said, almost apologetically. "I need to know you are where I need you to be."

There had been no point in arguing. There never was...

"Will we stay here?" Methos finally dared to ask.

Aja shook her head gently. "Not here ... there is only the promise of death, here. Not even I can stop it." She sighed deeply and tilting her head to one side ... closed her eyes. Finally she opened them and stood to move on. Methos joined her, but as they were nearing the outer reaches of the village, a small band of ruffians accosted them.

"Well," one of them said with a wicked laugh, "... there is some life here, after all." The three of them circled about Aja and Methos, whooping and laughing as though they had found a great prize.

Aja leaned heavily on her staff. For a moment, she seemed to Methos to somehow become smaller... somehow less than she was, then she meekly offered, "I am only an old woman. I have nothing for you... Let me pass." She spread one arm wide in a motion of supplication.

The three laughed. They drew their swords and brandished them in the sunlight. "What do you carry in those bags, old woman?" They motioned threateningly.

Aja dropped behind her the hand tied to Methos and worked free the leather thong. With a deft motion she shoved him behind her and motioned for him to step back... out of her way.

"Nothing that is of any of use to any of you," she whispered harshly. Methos sensed rather than saw the gathering storm. He had not seen it since their flight from the temple. He inched further away.

The three laughed again. "We will see that for ourselves!" one of them sneered, as they closed in on her.

It was then that Methos finally understood the true purpose of Aja's great staff. She twirled upon the first man... planted the staff harshly in his gut and, without pausing swung it about so that it landed heavily upon the skull of the second man.

When he saw his two companions slink unceremoniously to the ground unconscious, the third backed warily up, simultaneously swinging his sword back and forth to ward her off.

Aja paused only a moment, before whirling once more, her feet kicking out into the man as she used the staff for support. She knocked him down and slammed the staff onto his head. He crumpled onto the earth, his sword flew out of his reach... bounced once and landed at Methos' feet.

"Fools!" Aja murmured as she reset her bags and leaned down to check the men and to gather their weapons.

Methos picked up the sword which had landed near him. It was almost as tall as he was ... but he felt a sudden joy in its weight in his hands. Carefully he lifted it and tried to swing it about him as he had seen the man do. It was so heavy he could not move it as the man had. But for a moment in the movement, he was content.

Aja looked at him sharply. "Bring that to me! ... That is not a thing for you... not yet." He took it to her, reluctant to let it go.

Carrying all three swords, she returned to the village well and dropped them unceremoniously into the water. Clapping her hands as if to rid them of the feel of the swords, she re-attached the leather thong to her wrist and they took a different direction out of the quiet village.

"Aja?" Methos asked as they moved out into the desert once more. "Aja, ... please?"

"Not now ... little one ... we have to keep moving."

"But why? ..." insisted the boy, pulling at her.

Sighing, Aja slowed her quick pace to a stop and looked down at him, "Oh, all right. Ask your questions!"

Methos nodded to her. "You left them alive? ... Why?"

She sighed once more and shook her head sadly; "I have seen enough of killing and blood in my long life. They have so little time... Who am I to rob them of what little they do have."

"Why did you take their swords from them?"

"I am not a fool. When they recover... it is the first thing they will search for... I wished to delay that. If you leave an opponent alive... never leave him armed." She smiled and turned to continue their journey.

"One more," he offered tentatively. She gazed down at him. "Why did we not keep... one? Why the well?"

"That, Scholar, is two questions... however, one... I do not need a sword, and two... two..." her voice trailed off and she shrugged, "it was as good a place as any. It should take them some time to recover them. That is..." she winked at him, "if they ever find them. Enough! ... Time to go." She laughed and continued on their way.

Methos spared one look behind him at the village ... one look for the well and its vanished treasure, then followed Aja into the expanse of the great desert once more.

***

When Methos awoke, it was dark night. They had traveled all that day as Aja had attempted to put distance between themselves and the small village they had left behind. When he had stumbled in the heat and his own exhaustion, she had swept him into her arms and he had dozed. She moved swiftly, as she had when they had first left the temple of Nut.

She must have stopped sometime in the late afternoon or early evening, wrapped him in her great cloak and laid him down. Now he gazed upward at the canopy of heaven with all its stars and the thin sliver of the crescent moon.

Aja sat nearby, absently drawing in the sand with her fingers. She looked over at him as he stirred. "Awake at last little scholar?" she asked calmly. Whatever storm had been in her had blown itself out.

Methos walked over to her and climbed into her lap to take comfort from her sheltering presence.

"What is this?" She was surprised. He did not often surprise her. She put her strong arms about him and hugged him and kissed the top of his head. "Ahh... my little one. You are a treasure."

"Tell me a story."

Aja laughed. "A story? What story would you hear?" She absently stroked his head and he could read the patterns her fingers absently drew on him as she caressed him.

"Tell me about your father? And about his sword!"

Aja stiffened at his words. This was not something she wanted to do, he could sense. But maybe she needed to tell him. Maybe she needed to put into words whatever it was she had been holding inside for so long. She tilted her head to one side, listened to her voices a moment and then nodded.

"This will not make a great deal of sense to you, but I will try:

"In the dawn of the world, when all was still bright and new... we lived in a place that knew tall trees and high mountains and deep cold lakes... In that place my people raised the standing stones to mark their world and the passage of time, and to honor that which was before all things.

"There were no deserts there. There was no hatred and no killing. My brother and his friend and I would run about our village and join in the laughter and the play of our friends. Sometimes we would go to the shores of the ancient sea and dance on the sand... just the three of us... as if that were all that was important in the world. There were other young ones there... but those two were all who were important to me... those two and my mother who first taught me to write the symbols. They were old even then... perhaps older than time itself.

"At long last my father returned from his journeys and brought with him a sword... none of us had ever seen such a thing. It was a wonder... and for a time, all was as it had always been.

"In time we grew up and changed. I was the youngest of the three of us. My brother was as the earth... strong deep and abiding. If ever I needed anything, he would see to it. His friend was like the wind...he was always running about and disappearing on us. But he could find such wondrous things. I adored him... he could always make me laugh. I married him in the fullness of time. I was as the ocean sometimes was... rising and falling with the tide and moving between them in the great dance. We were happy... we were at peace and in harmony with the world." Aja's voice drifted off.

Methos stirred against Aja as she paused in her reverie. This was not the story he wanted. "But the sword, Aja...tell me about the sword."

She sighed deeply, and continued, "On his journeys, as I came to discover, my father had learned something dark. He had learned that by the use of a sword... he could take into himself great power and great knowledge... and great darkness. It was the darkness that overwhelmed him in the end, and in that darkness he slew his brother and all that tried to stop him. He slew them all, only the three of us--and our mother--remained. Only we four seemed immune to the darkness that now ruled his soul."

For a moment, Methos could seem to hear the thunder of a storm and sense the gathering of great clouds. He glanced above at the clear night and at the stars, which twinkled in its dark cloak. He buried his face in Aja's side. She leaned down and kissed the top of his head.

"In the aftermath of that moment... my mother rained down curses upon my father and upon all of us. In despair she grabbed the sword from him and took her own life. There in the midst of the standing stones... she cut off her own head and all she was flowed out upon the world. And we were alone.

"Her sacrifice seemed to bring my father once more to himself and he wept at the enormity of his crimes. The only way to find peace again was to join her. He begged the three of us to do what he found he could not do himself. At last we did... but after that, nothing was the same."

Methos looked at her in confusion. But her eyes were closed and she was far away...

Finally, as light began to break in the eastern sky, she stirred once more and said wistfully. "It was the end of our beginnings. My brother took our father's sword and traveled far to the east. My beloved could no longer bear my touch and turned from me. And I... I came here where there was no ocean... no great sea... seeking solace and quiet. But I have never found them."

She looked about as if suddenly aware of where they were and that the night had passed. She wrote the final two symbols in the sand.

Methos grinned, "And what do they mean, Aja... what do they mean? What is today's guess?"

She laughed then... chuckling at his question. "Oh Scholar... my tale is done this night. That is a tale for another time." And she erased the symbols as if they had never been. "We will rest here this day. I am weary from yesterday's flight and I have sat awake all this night. I need to sleep... I need to find some rest."

Methos looked about in the growing light. "Rest?" he wondered, "where in all this great desert would they ever find rest?"

****


	8. Chapter Seven: Life

**__**

Chapter Seven

Life ...

Forteviot, Kingdom of All Scots: 858 c.e.:

In the end, Methos finally just ran out of time. Word had arrived at Lord Strathclyde's court that King Kenneth commanded the knight's presence. Since he had been gravely ill over the winter, Kenneth wanted to conclude their business. He expected Sir Edward to come for Aella. Kenneth feared that if he died before the marriage took place, the girl might not be safe.

Methos had duly written to her in the last five years, each time including in the missive, some token of his respect for her... jewelry, cloth, and books. Her letters to him had been filled with dutiful comments and chaste hopes for a future that he had hoped to avoid. Still, he could not quite make himself just vanish without a trace. His bargain with Kenneth lasted only so long as the Scots King thought the knight would return to keep his word. So, he made preparations. 

If he had to marry the girl to get her away safely, so be it. He could then ensconce her onto some land holdings he had further south, make certain she was safe, and then, he would leave her there. It would be for the best. Sir Edward Gray could then just "_die_" conveniently and she would be Lady Gray. Her life would be her own. Whatever the fates decided for her, she would at least have a life away from the Scots court and her fears of what that court might eventually include for her.

And so, with a small entourage of servants, including a female companion for the girl, he made his way north, for the last time. He had also retrieved from hiding a small fortune as gift for the king, in appreciation of his help in this matter. Methos had also managed to appease Strathclyde's indignation about losing his retainer. 

"I am growing older," he had said meekly. "I need a quiet time... a bit of respite... if you ever need me, send for me... I will come." In the end it had worked. Strathclyde had let him go, and, more importantly, had not insisted on accompanying him, or in sending courtiers along... not this time.

When he was shown into King Kenneth's audience chamber in the great hall at Forteviot this time, Methos could not help but notice how the king had aged. He looked thin and almost frail as he sat slumped in his carved chair. His gray hair and beard were now more white than gray.

Kenneth, for his part, seemed to peer narrowly at Methos while pursing his eyebrows in thought and stroking his long beard... thinking. Methos stood cautiously. He had prepared for this trip by carefully aging his appearance somewhat. Yet he felt that the king was not tricked; that he saw through the immortal's disguise.

Donald, Kenneth's brother also looked at Methos suspiciously, then leaned down to whisper something in his brother's ear. Kenneth nodded, but waved his brother away.

"Our brother, Sir Edward, does not trust your intentions at our court."

"I assure the king, I am only here to conclude our business." Methos motioned for his servant to come forward with the chest of gold he had brought with him. "An appreciation for your help and many kindness' both to myself and to the girl." Methos opened the chest.

An audible gasp went up from several of the king's men present in the room. Kenneth threw back his head and laughed heartily. "We will say this for you, Sir Edward, you do know how to impress a court."

Methos merely bowed.

Then from behind him, he felt the buzz of Aella's approach. He was careful not to acknowledge it until he also heard the rustle of cloth and the sound of her light footsteps. He turned to see the girl and was momentarily stunned. 

In the five years he had been away, she had become a confident and gracious young woman. While she would never be as tall as many of the women of their kind, she had grown into a rare beauty. Her dark hair plaited down her back, shown with a soft light. Her green eyes sparkled in a face that no longer seemed to cringe at the approach of anyone. And she smiled... she smiled at him.

As she curtsied to the king, awaiting his signal to rise, Methos could not help but notice that the dress she wore was made of some of the fine gray-green wool he had sent with one of his letters. Around her neck was another of his gifts to her, a small golden torque. About her wrists were the bracelets he had sent. She was decked out in all of his gifts, as if to honor him.

Kenneth smiled warmly at her and motioned for her to rise. She did so and stood quietly beside her husband-to-be.

"We hope you are pleased, Sir Edward," Kenneth said softly.

"I am most pleased, your majesty," was all Methos could think to say.

Kenneth suddenly began coughing, his face turning purple from the effort. Aella moved swiftly to place a hand on his shoulder and motioned for a cup of water for the king. She murmured to him; gradually the coughing lessened and he nodded to her. She returned to stand beside Methos.

"We shall miss her... she has a healing touch sometimes. But, we fear this illness will be our last." Kenneth shifted in his chair. "We must conclude the arrangements and sign the final documents. You will wed today. Tonight we will feast." He motioned to a young priest to bring the papers.

Methos had no objection, indeed, the faster their business was concluded, the faster he and his party could leave. He did not wish to remain one more day than he had to. He feared what might happen if he were still at Forteviot when Kenneth died. Already he could see fear in the eyes of some of the retainers. He was not certain that Donald, the king's brother and heir would ever hold the same loyalty. Methos wanted Aella out of this place and safely in the south. Without Kenneth's protection, she was a clear target for many reasons.

Once their business was concluded, Kenneth dismissed the couple for an hour or so, until time for the formal church ceremony. They would be accompanied until then by Aella's servant and companion at the court, and an armed guard.

Methos suggested a walk in the courtyard for several reasons. One, he could get a better look about, and two, it would get them out of the hall for a bit. He led her about the yard, finally leading her to the well where he had once taught her to read. He motioned for her to sit.

She laughed softly, and sat beside him. Their escorts stood nearby.

"You have been well in the South, my lord?" Aella eventually asked.

"Very well," he answered. "And you?"

"I have tried to learn all that is necessary to become a good wife to you, but...?" her voice rose in a question. "Have you not been married before?"

"Yes," Methos nodded.

"And what happened to your first wife?"

"Oh... she died many years ago."

"Do you have children?" Aella suddenly sat a little more straightly.

"Alas, no." Methos did not elaborate. He merely tried to answer her questions as truthfully and as simply as he could.

Finally she leaned toward him and whispered, "'tis said you slew Collin McClarendon and fifty men when last you were here. There are many in this place who fear you."

Methos laughed and shook his head. "It was barely five men... but one was McClarendon."

"I am glad. I did not care for that man. Father Padraic once told me I was a wicked girl for being glad he was dead. He said it was wrong to wish for the death of any man."

"Father Padraic was probably right... however, I too am glad I killed him." They shared a secret smile and a quiet laugh. He sobered a moment, then asked, "Have you heard from your grandfather?"

"Oh," Aella said sadly, "he died last summer. They tell me that shortly before he died, he gave away all that he owned so that when he died, he went into the earth with only a shroud to cover him. But the people of the village, in honor of his great charities, have all taken the name of McCurdy to honor him, so that his name will never die."

"Did he ever know you were to be married?"

"He knew. He sent word that the Lady had kept her part of the bargain and that he would keep his." She shook her head. "I think it must have been from his wild stories that I thought I used to hear her. Father Padraic always believed I would grow out of my strangeness. I hope to prove him right. God rest his soul." Aella dutifully crossed herself, but there was a smile on her face and the hint of mischief as she did so, as if the action were something taught and not quite believed. She looked deeply into Methos' eyes, but there was no magic there... none, but the age-old magic that all women have when they gaze upon someone with eyes of love.

Her gaze made Methos uneasy. He had no plans for a long marriage; or any marriage at all if he could manage it. He was fond of the girl, but nothing more. He would make certain she was safe, then he would "_die_." He planned to make certain on the return journey that the female companion he had brought to serve her would continually accompany her. He planned to sleep by the campfire during the nights they traveled, while she would have the pavilion he had brought for that purpose. He supposed she would be hurt by his indifference to her, but it was for the best. He did not want a long-term relationship with an immortal; or even a potential immortal.

The rest of their time was spent in small talk. Finally the chapel bells rang, signaling evening services which would include the marriage. Before the altar in the chapel, Methos moved the gold ring from Aella's right forefinger to the one on her left hand. It was still far too big for her ring finger. The young priest blessed them and they returned with the rest of the court to the great hall for the wedding feast.

Kenneth had them seated at the head table. They were on his left, but it was still an honor. The food was truly a marvel. Roast boar, succulent trout, tasty root vegetables... each coarse was a feast for eye and nose as well as taste. Ale or a fine wine of a local vintage accompanied each course. Spirits were high and there was much jesting and many toasts.

Methos noticed that Kenneth, himself, ate and drank sparingly. The king once lifted his cup to Methos and nodded. Things had worked out well for both of them.

When the dancing began, Methos tapped his foot to the beat of the lilting music. Pipes, drums and lutes all played in concert and everyone seemed to visibly relax into the spirit of the feast. At one point Aella grabbed his hands and pulled him onto the floor to dance.

Swiftly she began to twirl and move in an intricate pattern about him that matched nothing that any of the others were doing. Around him he could hear a few snickers. He attempted to follow her movements, carefully watching her feet. She tapped and moved her feet back and forth, sliding one suddenly to the left, then tapping it and swinging around.

Another dancer leaned in and laughed, "You will never be able to follow her, Sir Edward, none of us can. None of us have ever been able to learn that dance!"

But to Methos the pattern of the dance was suddenly clear. He knew this and gradually his feet moved in answer to hers. Around and around they went, faster and faster. The steps were the symbols he had once learned from Aja... one after the other... in different combinations. Over and over they stepped through them as the music played. Just as it rose to end, they stepped the final two.

Applause broke out around them. Aella held her chest and tried to regain her breath, but the look on her face was one of joy. "You know this, she said you would! She always told me you could dance!"

It was Methos' first indication that just perhaps, there was still some glimmer of the old magic about the young woman.

As the evening wore on, he gradually relaxed. "This may just work out after all," he thought. It was shortly after that when several of the young married women gathered Aella into their midst and took off with her up the stairs. Methos was handed a large cup of wine and urged to drink.

"To keep your _strength_ up!" someone laughed in his ear. Methos went cold inside. He suddenly had a clear feeling of what would now be expected, and he was not certain if his protestations or his preparations would help him now. Evidently, Kenneth was expecting all the forms to be obeyed in order for Methos to take the girl away. Or, if this was not Kenneth's idea, perhaps it was that of Donald or one of the others, jealous and eager to have this marriage annulled so that someone else could claim the girl. She had become a treasure, and there were many here that now wanted her.

Several of the men gathered about him, urging him to drink and filling his ears with tales of sexual conquests and ribald stories and songs. About half an hour later, when they thought he was drunk enough, they maneuvered him up the stairs to the bridal chamber, singing loudly all the way. They began to strip him of his garments and remove his weapons. Then with a ribald laugh they thrust him almost naked into the room. A bowing and oh so serious servant led him to the bed where he climbed in quietly to sit beside Aella. The young priest said a blessing over the bed and everyone withdrew, leaving the couple alone.

Outside the door, the loud drunken singing and laughter continued. The custom of _charivari_ would likely continue outside the door for some time. 

Methos glanced over at Aella. Uncertainty had returned to the girl's eyes. She did not seem to know exactly what to expect next. There was no telling what they had told her would happen. He threw the furs back and swung his legs out of the bed. He placed his head in his hands and shook his head, trying to remove the last of the alcoholic haze from his thoughts. He needed to be clear-headed now. But try as he might, he could not see a way out of this. They had taken even his knife. There was no way to fake the proof of the consummation now. One glance about the room revealed nothing that he could use. He had thought he had it all planned out... but now. He looked back at Aella and smiled weakly.

Tears brimmed in her green eyes. "Have I displeased you, my lord?" Her chin began to tremble.

"Never!" Methos murmured and turned toward her, slowly and carefully brushing her hair from her face and softly kissing each of her eyelids. He could taste the salt of her tears. His fingertips carefully caressed and teased down the side of her face and onto her shoulder.

She shuddered slightly. His kisses slowly moved from her eyes down to her cheeks and neck. He kept expanding the areas of his caresses and kisses, slowly oh so slowly. His fingers of their own accord began to trace on her the symbols he had once learned. Still, he was slow and oh so gentle. He wanted this to be as easy for her as it could be. Soon he was using both hands. Gently he removed her nightdress from her and cast it to one side. Aella shyly covered her breasts with her hands and began to tremble once more. He began again, once more slowly kissing her and caressing her gently, ever so gently. Gradually she began to respond. When her back arched slightly in his arms, he laid her back onto the bed, and began once more.

Finally he reached the area between her legs. A slight moan escaped from her as he began his ministrations in this area. When he thought she was finally ready, he whispered into her ears. "This will hurt for only a moment, _trust_ me."

Slowly he entered her, thrusting only twice before withdrawing to spend himself on the now-bloody sheets. They would have their proof. Methos let out a long breath and then looked deeply into Aella's still fearful eyes. "That was for them, this time is for you." And he began again. This time, she responded sooner and even eagerly. The third time, she began to explore his body with her hands. And the fourth time... ahhh.

At dawn, he still lay awake in the marriage bed. Aella slept, curled into a ball and huddled close to him. A contented smile played about her lips even as she slept. Methos stroked her hair; he was not so sure of himself any longer. His plans of a quick and easy "_death_" seemed distasteful to him now. How could he just leave her? He suddenly realized that he did not wish to leave her. But he still knew it would be for the best. Yet, would it hurt to stay with her for just a little while?

Outside the chamber door he could hear the arrival of the priest and others. They were here to inspect the linen as proof that the marriage had been consummated. "_Well it had_," Methos thought, "_it had_." He pulled the furs over Aella to hide her nakedness. And gently nudged her. "They are here," he whispered when she stirred. She nodded and composed herself.

After he was dressed, Methos was led from the chamber while several women entered to attend to Aella. Already, the bed linens had been dutifully removed to take to the king. Methos shook his head. This was one barbaric custom he hoped would eventually pass away.

After dressing, he and Kenneth signed the final documents. They ate a light breakfast and were then joined by Aella, who was dressed for travel. Once again her choice in clothes leaned toward grays and greens. Methos nodded his approval. The horses were packed; all was in readiness for their departure.

Kenneth gave Aella a fatherly hug, accompanied by a sad little smile as they said farewell. Methos led her out of the hall and helped her onto her horse. Together they rode out the gate and down onto the high road south.

Aella spared the timber fortress one last, long, wistful look, then smiled at Methos and turned to face her future.


	9. Chapter Eight: and Death?

**__**

Chapter Eight

... and Death?

Cradle of Civilization circa 3000 b.c.e., about eight months later:

Another town... another market place... there had been so many of them that they all had begun to fade one into another. Like the colorless landscape of the desert, all things had become a numbing background to their journey.

Methos walked obediently at Aja's side and barely noted the people and events around him. They no longer mattered to him. Aja would replenish supplies, perhaps talk to a few people, and then they would move on. Once back into the desert, they would rest during the heat of the midday. Before beginning their nightly journeys, there was always time for the lessons.

Even those had become a mindless drill to the small boy. He no longer found it fascinating to write the symbols over and over in various combinations while trying to see and discern how they were related... how they were different. He no longer cared about the final two symbols, or in discovering their true meaning. They were just a task Aja set for him each day. Yet nothing, not even his apparent indifference or lack of enthusiasm deterred her.

"There is magic in knowing them," she offered once. "Magic in the very writing of them."

Methos saw no magic. He saw only a blinding white sky above a dun-colored and bright desert on their early morning treks. Or he saw only the black sky of night and the dark shadows of the desert when they traveled after darkness fell. He had begun to long for the cool stone of the Temple of Nut, or the great stone bath with it's floating lotus flowers, and the white linen softness of those who lived there.

It was, with some surprise that he realized Aja had come to a stop at the crossroads of the market. She paused as if considering some thought, then turned down the left-hand street as if looking for something. She paused near the open stand of a potter.

The old man, bald-headed, white-bearded and thin, who crouched on the mats showing his wares grinned up at her with a gap toothed smile and waved to her to inspect his wares. Aja absently removed the leather thong from around her wrist and crouched down to speak to him and examine his paltry items.

Methos, suddenly free to wander, looked about him. He had no interest in the cooking pots and other pottery items the old man was selling, nor could he see any reason for Aja to stop here. The old man stood up to show her the fine workmanship; his easy banter quick and friendly. Methos turned and wandered across the dusty street to another stall. Here, there were swords! He crouched down to examine the shiny bronze blades. The stall owner yelled at him to leave. He stood up and backed off into the street, but continued to stare hungrily at the weapons.

He could not understand Aja's reluctance of them. Nor, besides the few clues he had gleaned from her ramblings about her father and his death by sword at her hand, did he really know why. To him, he thought it a glorious and wondrous thing to become proficient in such a weapon. He continued to stand and stare, slowly moving in ways he thought a warrior might use. He was oblivious of the world around him. Only the swords were real!

He watched what happened next as if it were a dream... as though it was happening to someone else... as though it was not real.

A chariot, pulled by two fast-moving black horses, barreled down the street, coming straight at him! He stared at the on-coming face of death without comprehension. Suddenly thin arms picked him up and flung him out of the way and into Aja's arms. Screams erupted around him. It was only then that time and reality reasserted itself in his mind.

The old potter had seen the oncoming chariot and more swiftly than his long years suggested, had quickly moved to grasp the boy and toss him out of the way. Then he faltered. The chariot ran him down! The driver slung curses at the crowd as the wheels of his chariot bumped roughly into the air as they ran over the old man! Without pause he continued on his way, still whipping his horses to even greater effort.

Aja held Methos closely for a long moment. Then she held him away from her, quickly checking to see if he had any injuries.

"Foolish boy," she said angrily, "just look what you have done." She turned him to look at the old man's broken and bloodied body lying there in the street. "He might have been spared what is to come. Now see what your carelessness has done!" 

Methos tried to explain. "I am sorry Aja. I was not looking. I was..." He pointed at the weapons stall.

"Looking at swords! I might have known!" She was angry with him. It was the first time she had ever been truly angry with him. He feared to be the victim of one her storms! Methos began to shake. He had seen what happened to those who made her angry! Then her face softened, and she caressed his cheek. "Shhhh!... What you have done is done. We will speak no more of it." She kissed his forehead, " Now stand here!"

Aja joined the crowd around the body. Methos could hear her asking about the old man and his family. 

"His wife is dead these many years." "He has no children." "He has no one..." came the answers from different people in the crowd. Further questions determined that he was not a man of wealth or property and that his body would just be wrapped in cheap linen and buried in the sand. It was then that Aja surprised Methos.

"This man saved the life of my child! I would honor him! Is there a small burial cave where his body might rest? One I could... purchase?" She reached into her bag and pulled out one of the hoarded jewels she had removed from her golden collar when they had first left the Temple of Nut.

Members of the crowd gasped. One merchant came forward. "O ro' dred was a good man and a friend. I have known him all my life. I have such a cave for sale, Great Lady." He bowed deeply to Aja in respect, but his eyes glittered at the prospect of owning the great ruby.

Aja smiled knowingly at him. "Then, perhaps, we may come to... an agreement." The two put their heads together to work out the burial arrangements.

According to local custom, the old man was wrapped for burial, which took place by evening of the same day. His remains were placed in the small cave Aja had purchased for him. Stones were placed before the entrance to seal it. Songs were sung. Prayers for the dead were offered, and the villagers returned to their village and to their lives.

But Aja and Methos remained at the burial site. She built a small fire from some gathered wood and sat down to wait. She offered food to Methos, but ate none herself. She was lost in thought.

"Why do we remain?" finally asked Methos.

Aja smiled that mysterious smile of hers. "We wait for what is to come."

"But what is that?"

She gave him no answer, only stoked the fire. Finally she glanced over at the cave and nodded. "It is time. Stay here, Scholar, by the fire. Go to sleep. I will be near." Then she rose and, going to the cave began to pull away the stones to unseal it.

Methos did as he had been told. He had angered her enough for one day. He wrapped himself in her great cloak and lay down by the fire. But his eyes watched her every move.

At last she had pulled enough stones away to enter the cave. Soon after, Methos saw a pale glow from within it, and knew she was holding or, perhaps, gazing into her great crystal. After a while, his eyes grew heavy and he thought to sleep. Yet, her actions gnawed at him. Curious, he slipped away from the fire and hid near the cave entrance to see what there was to see.

Methos gasped! The old man was sitting on the ground in the cave and talking sadly with Aja. He strained to hear their conversation.

"I cannot die, then?" the old potter asked.

"Not by most means. As I said, there is a way. You were so close to a mortal death, one that would not have triggered this in you... but you saved the boy. I am grateful beyond measure."

The old man continued, "But you did not do this thing to me?"

"No... and normally when this happens to someone, I have always just noted it and passed on by. But because you gave your death for the life of the boy... I have decided to change the game again. I tell you what has happened to you. I tell you so that you may in turn find and tell others. Help them to understand. Help them to find their way. Then they also will find and teach still others. Perhaps through this intervention, an end may be possible for all of us. We may one day gather and become one."

"When will I meet my death? I am an old man! I have lived a long life already."

"Ahhh ... O ro' dred. The gift of prophecy is a dangerous one. It usually drives us mad. I know because it often makes me so. Are you so certain you would want it? Any part of it?"

"Only concerning my death so that I may never fear it... but welcome it as a cherished friend. If I am to wander the world for you, helping to teach others what you have taught me when they awaken from this false death, I would know that my road has an ending."

She sighed, "So be it!" Aja lifted one of her hands to the old man's eye and pointed one of her long fingers directly at it. To Methos, it appeared that a great crackle of fire, like the green fire he sometimes thought he saw in her eyes, blasted outward and surged directly into the potter's right eye. O ro' dred howled in pain! Methos shifted on the rocks, wanting to turn away, but the sight of what he saw kept him where he was.

"See now, my friend," he heard Aja cry, "the time, the place, the means of your death, and the face of the hand that wields the sword!"

The old man's cry filled the night! ... A mournful cry... a pain-filled cry... a cry of terror! When he opened his now blasted eye, it was white. His eye had turned inward and no longer saw the world about him. It saw only the moment of his death. While one eye would see the world as it was, the other would forever see the moment he awaited. When the visions of both his eyes matched, he would know his time had come.

Methos had seen enough. Terrified, he scrambled back to the fire and wrapped himself in Aja's great cloak. He covered his face and trembled beneath the cloak's comforting feel.

Soon he heard Aja and the old man return to the fire to bid their good-byes to one another.

"You know, my lady, if what you say is true, someday you will have to kill the boy, or watch him grow old and die."

"I know, my friend, I know."

Beneath the cloak, Methos continued to tremble in fear. But as silence returned to the night, the beating of his heart gradually calmed, his eyes grew heavy, and at long last, he slept.

When Methos crawled out of the cloak at dawn, all was as it had been the night before. The cave was sealed as it had been. Aja sat by the ashes of the dead fire, slowly drawing the symbols in the ashes. She turned and smiled at him when he approached, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"You had a nice long sleep, Scholar." She seemed very calm and there was no hint of anger or petulance in her voice. It was as though she had reached a decision about something, and was at peace with it and with herself for the first time since she had found him.

Methos looked about him, but saw no signs that what he had seen last night was anything more than a strange dream brought about by the events of the previous day. Perhaps he had simply dreamed that the old man had not died. Aja, of course, said nothing. She merely smiled.

After they had eaten, she smoothed out the ashes of the fire and stood to look about the horizon. "Time to go!" she suddenly said and gathered her belongings.

Methos was surprised. Usually there were lessons each morning.

Once Aja was set to leave, he approached her so that she might re-tie the leather thong about her wrist. She smiled thoughtfully, then reached down to remove it from his wrist. She curled it up and handed it to him. "I think we can do without that, right little scholar?"

Methos stared at the thong in his hands and then offered her a big grin and nodded. "Yes, Aja. I will stay close. I will never wander off again. I will stand where you wish me to stand. I will do all you want. Where do we go now?"

Aja looked about her. Then leaned down to him and gazed into his face, "I think you may choose the direction we go today. Now look at the horizon and choose carefully."

Methos obeyed and looked carefully in each direction. Finally he chose one and pointed, "That way!"

"And why that way?"

"I see great birds in the distance. There may be fresh water that way," he grinned.

"Very good. Now... you lead the way and I will follow."

They moved then, back into the barren landscape in search of journey's end.


	10. Chapter Nine: Death

**__**

Chapter Nine

Death...

Strathclyde, 858-864 c.e.:

For a while, life was an unending dream that seemed to take place within a single moment of time. It was as though, Methos thought, they had entered the land of Faerie where time did not pass.

On the journey from Kenneth's kingdom into Strathclyde, Methos did not sleep by the fire, nor did Aella spend much time with her female companion. She rode at his side and he showed her everything he could about the lands they were passing through. She had never been outside the hillfort since coming there as a child. At night, she would not go to the pavilion unless he went. And so he went.

His lands, to which he had maintained title for generations and visited every few centuries were nestled in a narrow valley. There was nothing overtly wealthy about the estate. It appeared modest by most standards of nobility. It was, in fact, much more of a working farm than the estate of some wandering knight. Over the millennia, both here and elsewhere, when he bought property to be held in trust for the future, he was usually careful not to make it seem too wealthy or too desirable. There was less chance of it being plundered when he was away. These places were usually just out-of-the-way havens for when he needed to lose himself between lives.

Before Aella's arrival, he had re-hired a staff, and fixed up and furnished the house a bit. His plans to abandon her still played in his mind. But not yet... not yet. The house's form, although not its structure, was reminiscent of Roman villas from several centuries before. It was sturdy, with stone and timber walls and a thatched roof. A stone wall surrounded the house. He had managed to build a small open atrium in the center of the house... an interior garden where one could sit in safety under a tree. Within the outer courtyard between the house and the wall were also servants' quarters, a kitchen, and the stables. Outside the wall were fields of crops and pastures where horses and cattle roamed. In one field, he had once invested in beehives.

Aella clapped in delight when she saw the simplicity and order of the estate. She ran to see everything, taking great delight in all she saw. Methos took delight in just watching her. Once more, she seemed so very young to him. "_Gods! Was I ever that young!_" he thought as he watched her dance about the holdings, laughing with glee.

When she saw "_her_" room she looked at him questioningly. "And where will you stay?"

Methos opened his mouth and made to gesture to another room. Before he could get a word out, she hugged him and clasped her hands about his neck. "You will stay with me, or I will stay with you." She kissed him teasingly... and so the matter was settled.

Methos turned his attention to the estate in the following days, setting gears into motion that would watch over the land once he left. The servants were from families of long-term retainers, who had some idea that their master would one day leave and that they were to keep things running until his or his "descendant's" return. Most often, this was enough. He was an old, old hand at this. He had done it many times, in many places. But he delayed his departure.

He sometimes worked alongside the field workers and participated in the gathering of crops or the slaughter of cattle and pigs. Aella now had a household to run. She had learned many lessons in King Kenneth's court about management and order, but Methos discovered quickly that she had never learned to cook. She tried, but she just had absolutely no aptitude.

When she wept about the burned bread or the charred meat or the much too salty soup, Methos held her and whispered gently, "I did not marry you for your cooking." She laughed, and he laughed with her.

Sewing was another skill she had no luck at. It wasn't that she couldn't. It was just she became easily bored by it and would drop her needle to walk in the fields, or take care of the animals, or play with the servants' children. She once tried to make him a tunic, only to discover there was no way it would ever look like a proper one. One arm hung much longer than the other and the shoulders just simply would not work right. When he tried it on and she saw that, she cried.

Once again he held her and told her, "I did not marry you for you stitching abilities."

So she gathered honey from the hives, gathered vegetables from the garden, and cared for the animals, the servants, and their children. As Kenneth had said, she had a healing touch sometimes. She just seemed to know what it was an animal or person needed. They all came to her with their problems and their hurts. Somehow, she made everything right. Laughter filled the house.

And if at times he came upon her unbeknownst and saw her eyes unfocused and filled with tears or her face lined with sadness or her shoulders bent low in despair, as soon as she saw him, she brightened, and no shadow of it remained. Yet, he began to notice more and more of these unhappy periods. If he asked her about them, she would laugh and shake her head as if they were nothing. And indeed, everything did seem fine.

Time seemed to stand still. Days passed into months... months passed into years. Only the changing seasons marked the passage of them.

***

It was therefore, a surprise one morning that Methos, awake with the dawn and unusually restless, noticed as he stroked Aella's long black hair, a single stand of silver. "_Now when did that happen?_" he thought. "_Has so much time passed already?_" He had foregone his own subtle aging techniques not long after their arrival. They hadn't seemed needed. Aella had not seemed to notice either way. When she looked at him, she seemed too happy to care.

Methos rolled softly onto his back so as not to disturb her curled up on his arm. He would have to make a decision, and soon. He would have to tell her about himself, about what he was, and possibly about what she could be. He still was uncertain as to what to do about that. To tell her might mean it would never happen.

When he exercised with his sword each day in the courtyard, she would watch, fascinated with his movements.

"It is like the dance," she laughed once.

He had taken the opportunity to try and teach her how to hold a sword, how to use it. But as with cooking and sewing, she had no aptitude for it.

"Silly goose! Why should I learn this?" she had asked, sticking her tongue out at him playfully.

"If I were killed," he had answered soberly, "you should know how to defend yourself."

"If you are dead," she had walked up to him swaying and smiling, "then why would I care to survive." She had offered a small kiss, laughed and run off to the fields. Methos had sheathed his sword and followed her., grinning in the anticipation of an afternoon loving her in the fields, among the flowers and sounds of nature.

Now, lying in their bed, Methos realized the moment of truth had to be near. If ever there was anyone not ready and not suited for the immortal life, it was Aella. Methos gently caressed her neck. For a moment, it might have been so easy. He could simply kill her and wait for her to awaken. But he could not bear the accusations and hate that would surely follow such an act. No, that was a coward's way out. He gently removed his other arm from under her. She murmured slightly and changed positions, but did not awaken. He got up and dressed quietly, then made his way out of the house to the stables. He needed to take a ride and figure some things out.

He rode down near the banks of the stream and over into the great forest that bordered the land. He rode for hours, frequently letting the horse set its own pace and direction. Methos considered all his options, all the possibilities. Finally, he decided he must tell her about himself, and see what happened. He would not tell her everything... there was no need for that. But she needed to know some of it. And as for her... that would depend on how she responded to the truth about him. Too many of the women he had known over the centuries had been unable to deal with the thought of a husband or lover who never aged. But perhaps she could. Perhaps... he knew now what to do. He needed to tell her that much at least. He needed to give her a choice in what the next move for them would be. His mind made up, he headed back to the estate.

Pulling up in the courtyard, Methos was immediately hit by the sense that she was not there. Leaping off the horse, he raced into the house.

He grabbed the arms of one of the house servants, "Where is my wife!"

"Good sir," replied the old woman, "My lady has taken young Peter with her and gone to the church."

"The church?" Methos was stunned. Since coming here, they had seldom gone to church. He was himself no longer a religious man, but was always perfectly willing to go along with whatever the prevailing religion of a time and place if it kept him safe. Aella, too, had seemed to have little interest in regular worship, although they had attended for major feast days and celebrations. Something was going on!

Methos ran back out of the house and remounted his horse, taking off at a gallop for the small stone church at the crossroads. He would get to the bottom of this! He felt anger simmering just below the surface. Just when he had things figured out, just when he had made a decision, something unexpected happened!

He reined in sharply at the church, dismounted and tossed the reins to young Peter who was standing outside holding the reins of Aella's horse. No one else was around. He could sense her within the church.

Methos roughly flung open the church doors and strode in. One door slammed loudly as he entered. Within the cool darkness of the stone church, he could make out Aella and Father Martin talking quietly in the nave near the altar rail. They both turned to stare at him as he entered.

"Edward?... What are you..." Aella seemed surprised to see him. Her eyes were filled with questions.

"Sir Edward," the priest began at almost the same time, "you have arrived most propitiously. I was just telling Lady Gray..."

"Get out!" Methos roared at Father Martin. "I wish to speak with my wife."

Father Martin glanced back and forth between the two, then bowed and went out the front doors, carefully and quietly closing them behind him.

In the quiet darkness, Aella looked very sad. She refused to meet his gaze, but stared at the floor and wrung her hands. She turned her wedding ring round and round her finger.

Methos took a deep breath to calm himself, then put his arms about her. "What is it? You can tell me anything." This was not the conversation he had planned for.

"I am talking to Father Martin about entering Holy Orders."

"What?... Why?... " Methos was taken aback. "I thought you were happy."

She finally looked up at him and her eyes brimmed with tears. "I am happy, my lord. More than I ever thought to be. It is just... just..." Her voice broke in a sob and her shoulders began to shake.

Methos held her close to him and stroked her hair. "Aella, whatever it is, we can work this out." All thoughts of leaving her anytime soon were fading away.

"I cannot give you children," she finally uttered. "At least I don't think so. I wanted to find a place where you could send me and..."

"Aella... Aella... Aella, I did not marry you for children." Methos laughed gently and kissed the top of her head.

"But you should have children. You should have strong sons to carry on for you. I kept hoping that if I prayed long enough and hard enough, like Sarah, wife of Abraham, or Hannah, mother of Samuel, that I would give you children." Her tears streamed down her face. "Now, even Father Martin thinks this may be for the best."

"Damn Father Martin and all that would tell you such a thing!" he thundered. "Aella..." he held her out from him and brushed her hair from her eyes. Gently he continued, "I love you. I will never leave you nor put you away." Even as he said it, Methos knew it was true. He had never told her that before, perhaps his worry at having to leave suddenly had prevented him from this final commitment. He would stay with her until the day she died. Now was probably not the time to tell her about his immortality; but perhaps he could ease her mind a bit.

"And as for children... I have never had children. I do not think I can. It has never been important to me. But if it is important to you, we will find children to raise as our own."

Her eyes widened in wonder, and she smiled. Then she nodded, "I think I would like..."

The slamming of the church doors interrupted her. Both of them looked in that direction.

A band of rough looking men had entered the church.

"_Outlaws_," thought Methos and moved Aella to stand behind him. He drew his sword... beneath him he felt the faint tremble of the earth as it warned him he was on holy ground. He could do no violence here. "What do you want?" he called out sharply. 

"What do you have?" one of the men replied. The others laughed.

Methos backed up, still keeping Aella behind him. "This is a church... sanctuary... you should respect it!" he cried out. Was there a way out through Father Martin's sacristy? He thought so. Once more, as he brandished his sword, he could feel the reminder that here he was powerless.

"Church?" The leader of the band smirked as he came forward, all the while motioning his men to spread out. "Afraid I don't much respect churches." He motioned at Aella. "Come here girl. Got something for you." His men laughed once more and began to close in.

Methos glanced around him trying to figure a way out. Outside he could hear cries of slaughter. Peter and Father Martin were likely dead. There was no safety outside, but he could do nothing in here. He had to get them all out of the church and off holy ground. He could not protect her in here. He turned to motion Aella to head for the sacristy, when his chest seemed to explode in fire and pain.

He looked down to see an arrowhead emerge from his chest. He had been shot from behind! A second crossbolt hit him. He stumbled, and reached toward Aella. He could feel the blood in his mouth and already his sight was dimming. "_Not now_" he thought,_ not now_!" But it was already too late. The last thing he was aware of before darkness took him was Aella's tortured screams.

***

He came to sooner than he might have... sooner than he should have. He was struggling up through the pain. He somehow had to force the healing to be faster. He weakly reached to his chest and broke off the arrow points. Then reached behind his back to pull out the shafts. The effort drove him back into the dark well of unconsciousness. But, he would heal faster now that the arrows were out.

He was next aware of the smell of smoke and the heat of the fire. Above him, the thatched roof of the church had gone up in a blaze. All about him flames reached high up the walls. The church was becoming a blazing inferno! He had to get out of here! As burning thatch fell about him he half crawled, half drug himself toward the sacristy. There was less fire there, but not for long.

With each step his lungs strained to breathe through the smoke. He was not fully healed yet. Within the ransacked sacristy there was a brief respite from the fire, but it was already eagerly licking the overhead thatch. He took several tortured breaths and headed for the small door at the rear. Nowhere in this inferno did he sense Aella, alive or dead.

Once outside, he confirmed that Peter and Father Martin were dead. From a distance he could make out peasants running toward the church. He could not let them see him! He could not let them delay him! He had to find Aella! Looking down at himself, he noted they had pretty much stripped his body. And, of course, they had taken his sword.

"_They even took my boots_," he thought. Tracks led into the great forest, so he headed in that direction. They had not cared to conceal their tracks, not that it would have made much difference. He was a very good tracker when he needed to be.

An hour later, Methos had pretty much regained his strength. His breathing was still a little ragged, but he had been running. Seven horses, all of them were bearing riders, one a double load. She had to still be with them. Yet he still sensed nothing. They were likely an hour ahead and getting further. He needed for them to stop, to camp... so he could catch up. At the same time, he feared what would happen to Aella when they did camp. He increased his speed. 

Darkness fell. There was no moon this night and the stars were covered by a thin layer of clouds. He passed through a world painted in shadowy grays and deep blacks. Still he ran, trusting that he would find them... find her.

At last he noted a fire through the trees. She was here... she had to be here! It had been dark for several hours by the time he slunk up on the encampment. Near where the horses were hobbled, one of the men stood lookout. He vaguely recognized the man as one of the band of outlaws. Then this was the right group! Methos had no time for subtlety. He crouched for only a moment, stretching and flexing his muscles. As soon as he was ready, he rose, like a white ghost in the mist and strode purposely toward the man. Even before the outlaw could register surprise, Methos had reached him and with a swift motion twisted the man's head so that his neck snapped.

"_Good_," thought Methos. "_One down_." This was likely the bowman who had shot him. Methos retrieved the man's crossbow and loaded it with one of the bolts. The man had no sword, but he did have a long knife. That would also help. He was close enough now to sense Aella. She was still alive! Cautiously Methos approached the campfire. 

The men were laughing and telling ribald jokes. One of them got up and stood facing the unseen Methos. He stretched his arms and yawned. He was just too good a target. Methos fired the crossbow. The bolt landed squarely in the man's mouth. He gasped and gurgled. Next he twisted slightly back to his companions at the fire... then dropped like a stone.

"That's two!" whispered Methos to himself, as he quickly reloaded the crossbow. His bloodlust was nearly at a fever pitch. He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He would have no second chance this time.

A third outlaw drew his sword as his companion fell. Methos got off one more shot with the crossbow. This time he hit the heart. Three other men jumped up and started toward him, their weapons at the ready. One of them yelled to the last man, out of sight of the campfire.

Methos dropped the crossbow and stepped into the firelight. Swiftly and precisely and without a waste of movement, he ran directly at the men. Using the long knife, he quickly parried away the man's sword and plunged the knife deeply into his gut. He left it there and snatched the sword from the outlaw's hands. 

Methos twisted the unfamiliar sword in his hands, swiftly testing its balance and strength. He pivoted and thrust into one of the two men attacking him. The other backed away in confusion. It was he who had Methos' great sword. Methos had no fear of that sword in this man's hands and ran at him swinging. Another one down!

Just then, he felt the change in his sense of Aella. She was dead! He had not been fast enough! He should have found her first and then killed these miscreants!

The last man came running at him, a bloody knife still in his hands. With a great cry, Methos turned his unleashed fury upon Aella's murderer. A red haze covered his eyes and the long-buried ferocity took control.

By the time his rage was spent, Methos was covered in blood and there was little recognizable about the last man. He spared only a moment to howl his rage at the dark night sky. Then walked slowly over to Aella's naked body.

She lay pale and white in a pool of her own blood. Already Methos could sense the change starting to happen. He dropped the sword and knelt beside her, slowly gathering her bruised and battered body into his arms. She would be back, he knew, but she would likely never be the same. The enchanting elfin child he had come to love was likely gone forever.

Methos gently laid her back on the ground and looked about. He needed to clean himself up a bit before she woke. He could not let her see him like this... she would be frightened enough. He found water bags and quickly washed off the splattered blood. Then he rummaged through the booty the men had collected and found suitable clean clothing for both himself and for her... men's clothes... those would be better for her now. Besides, hers had been ripped to shreds. He roughly removed his stolen boots from the second man he had killed and put them back on, stomping the ground... some of his anger and fury still coursed through him. He needed to get that firmly under control!

Taking the water bag and the clothes he had selected for her, he walked over to Aella's corpse. He lay the clothes to one side and he began to gently wash her body of the blood, as though by removing it, he could somehow undo what had happened to her. Already the bruises and cuts were starting to heal. The death wound itself would be a little longer... but even it was beginning to knit. It would not be much longer. Then he wrapped her lightly in her own long cloak, which he had found thrown nearby and sat beside her to wait for what would come.


	11. Chapter Ten: and Rebirth

**__**

Chapter Ten

... and Rebirth

Strathclyde, 864 c.e.:

After what seemed like hours, Methos felt the final change take place. Aella suddenly lurched and gasped roughly... that first rough gasp they all made when returning from wherever it was they went. The one that rent the air and pulled it desperately into lungs that had none.

Then she screamed... thrashing her arms about as if to ward off an attacker. The cloak itself fell from her as she struggled. She held her hands to either side of her head and moaned... she was feeling him... his immortality... for the first time. She looked about and screamed again when she saw him. She began to back away in absolute terror.

"Aella..." Methos gently said without moving, "it is only me... I am here. They cannot hurt you, not ever again."

Aella simply stared. In the flickering firelight she trembled in disbelief, still shaking her head and glancing fearfully about her. Finally, her voice cracking in terror and disbelief, she ventured, "Edward?"

"Edward..." Methos answered quietly. It was all she needed to know, for now.

She covered her face with her hands and continued to tremble. Methos still made no move toward her. "We are both dead, then... is this hell?" she finally asked looking around them once more, her eyes taking in the darkness, the firelight, and the nearby bodies..

"No... Not hell... and we are not dead."

"But I saw you dead!" she screamed. "They killed you. I saw you dead!" She sobbed and lifted her voice in a great keening wail.

Methos waited quietly. She would need to calm down some before he could begin to explain all that had happened.

"I know... " she continued suddenly. "You are a demon... you have been sent to taunt me. I am being punished for all my wickedness!" She clutched the cloak about her once more, trying to hide within it and began to moan.

Methos sighed. He wanted to go to her... comfort her... but if he was to see her through this... he needed to keep his distance... or she would never survive. And he wanted her to survive if at all possible! He waited for her to quiet down once more. Then looked at her evenly. "I am immortal, I cannot die... nor can you."

"Are you mad? This is not real... this is not real!" She scrambled further from him in denial.

"All too real, I fear. We are immortal... Aella, we always were." He paused, "I will try to explain. There are things you have to know... things you will have to learn... your life will be a very different one now and to survive, you must learn them."

Slowly and calmly Methos began to explain the game and the rules. He gave her only the barest outline... just enough for her to at last begin to understand. His true name, his age and long past, he did not tell her. She did not need to know that. It was more important that he impress on her what she had become and what was now required.

"Why did you not tell me!" she accused him. "Was all our life together a lie? Some great jest on your part?"

"Not a lie... I had hoped you would be spared this." Methos sadly shook his head; it was time to tell her the next part.

When he explained the ritual combat and the beheadings, she shook her head in disbelief. "I cannot do that! Are you mad!"

"You will... or you will die a death, from which you will not awaken," he answered his voice filled with the regret that he had handled everything so badly. "If you want to go on living... you will. I will teach you how to survive. I will teach you the skills you will need." He tossed the long knife toward her. With her small stature, it would be enough for her to start with.

Aella stared at it for a long time. Then she stood and looked about the outlaws' campsite. She clutched the cloak about her and wandered over to the dead men. She stood over them looking at their corpses, as if considering her own options. At one of the bodies, she reached down and removed something roughly. Then she kicked the body with a hatred he had never known her to possess. She screamed obscenities and spat at the corpse. Then, when her fury lessened, she stared at whatever it was in her fist. She looked back at Methos coldly. She seemed to consider something, then nodded to herself. She walked over to him.

"I am glad they are dead... will they come back, too?"

"No!" Methos said simply. "They were mortal and they are dead."

"Then you should have left one for me to practice on." Her voice had a hard edge to it that Methos had never heard. It was hard, flat, and dead.

He looked up at her questioningly.

"Would you not agree, Sir Edward," she said, "that the purpose of marriage is children."

Methos nodded. It had been years since she had called him Sir. "Yes," he answered quietly.

"Immortals do not have children... right?"

He sadly shook his head. "No, they do not have children."

"And would you not agree, also..." she paused briefly, then continued, "that death ends a marriage?"

Methos closed his eyes a moment and then reopened them, gazing into her sad green ones. He nodded. "Yes."

She held out her hand which still clutched within her fist something she wanted him to have. He reluctantly lifted his hand to receive it. She dropped her wedding ring into his palm.

"Then our marriage is over... now, teach me what I need to know to survive."


	12. Chapter Eleven: Promises

**__**

Chapter Eleven

Promises ...

Cradle of Civilization, 3000 b.c.e., one month later:

Methos could never remember seeing so much color in one place! Instead of resting during the early afternoon of this day, Aja had continued on. Above them the sky had become the bright blue he had once remembered. Ahead of them waved palm trees with great green fronds. It was an oasis.

When they reached it, it was then that he saw colors he could barely remember. The tents, flapping in the breeze were red, and orange, and purple, and gold. Even the clothes on the children running about were colorful. The men and women of the oasis also wore brightly hued clothing. Gold jewelry sparkled on some of the women.

The other children captured his attention. He could not ever remember children laughing and playing together. He had always been alone. They ran about with obvious delight. One of the boys stopped near him and beckoned with his hand for Methos to join them in play.

Methos solemnly looked up at Aja. She smiled and nodded, then motioned for him to go on. He did so, a bit shyly at first, but gradually entering into the games. However, he kept an eye on Aja, so that he would be ready to go when she was.

Aja was seated on a rock near the water, talking with a man and with a woman who was holding a small child. They sat beside her and shared food and water. Methos returned to his play, eager to just be with others his own age for a change.

The next time he glanced over to the well, he saw the man walking over to some camels. The woman continued to sit, holding the small one and watching the older children at play. Of Aja, he saw nothing!

Methos stopped still, then ran back the way they had come in. She was there, already she had reached beyond the oasis. He ran to catch up with her.

As he did so, murmuring his apologies for not watching her more carefully, Aja stopped and turned to look down at him. She leaned on her great staff, her cloak lifted in the wind and blew out behind her. She gazed at him thoughtfully, then she crouched down so that she was looking directly into his face. She lay the staff in the sand.

"Scholar... Methos... you must listen to me now," she said softly and mournfully. "I must go and you must stay. This is your home now. These people are your family. They will care for you, they will love you... they will watch you grow to manhood. I have seen this."

"No... Aja... I will go where you go!" he insisted.

"No little one. Now and for all time, we each must walk a long and lonely road... it is the pattern of life. We meet... we cross... we part... we move on. It is the way of it. But... I am the better for knowing you. You melted the ice that was my heart. You have helped me to find purpose in existence once more. Because of you, I now know what it is I have to do... I have to find others like you... all the ones I can... and place them safely, as I have now placed you. And sometimes," she smiled knowingly, "I may just teach some of them some of what you now know... so the old knowledge will never be lost."

Methos began to tremble as tears streaked down his face. "Aja, do not leave me... I will be good. I will not wander off... I will always do what you want of me." He grabbed at her and sobbed.

"I must Methos... I must go. You are better off here. You cannot walk the road I must walk. You must walk your own. I have to let you go. You must find your own way now." She stood again, once more leaning on the great staff.

"I will always remember you, my little scholar. You were the first of all those I will call my children. Swear to me that you will cherish life each and every day of the long life I see before you. We will be parted, but we can remember the past with joy, and seek the promise of a brighter future. One day we shall be one once more." She smiled at him.

"Then I will see you again?"

Aja looked up at the darkening sky. Then she leaned down once more and ran her fingers through his hair. "Ahh... Scholar, you will see something of me in the face of every woman you love... in the face of every man you call friend or brother... in the face of every enemy you kill. Look for me... I will be there. And maybe... just maybe... someday you will find me in the face of a child."

Methos nodded. "I will miss you always Aja." He threw his small arms around her once more and clung to her.

"No, little one, you will forget me, at least for now." She held him away from her and bent down. "Close your eyes."

Methos closed his eyes as he was told. He felt Aja caress the side of his face and lightly kiss each of his closed eyelids. They were soft kisses... soft as the gentle breeze. He felt her touch his forehead and then trail her finger down to the tip of his nose. She tapped it lightly. Then he felt her blow softly on his face.

"Methos... hurry!"

Methos opened his eyes at the sound of Sekmet's voice. He looked around him. He was facing the rising sandstorm at the edge of the oasis. For a moment, he thought he saw a tall figure in blowing sand colored robes vanish into the storm... a figure who walked with a tall staff.

"Father says the storm is coming. We have to go."

Methos nodded at the other boy, then looked back at the horizon, trying to remember... but there was no one there. He followed Sekmet back into the oasis and then into the tent, which was sealed behind them. The entire family was gathered here. Smells of food and spices permeated the air. Cool, fresh water was passed freely around. Joyful voices surrounded him... he felt at peace. He was home. At long last, he was home.


	13. Chapter Twelve: and Trust

**__**

Chapter Twelve

... and Trust

Strathclyde, 864 c.e.:

Instead of returning to their home in Strathclyde, Methos thought it best that Sir Edward Gray and his wife just vanish, at least for now. Aella was still far too fragile and far too emotional about her experience to be around other people. Also, there was much he now needed to teach her... things that would make no sense to their servants.

He found an overhanging rock ledge in a high mountainside that faced east. It might have served as a cave once; it was big enough to shelter the two horses they had taken with them. They could build a fire there and he could train Aella in peace, and without fear of interruption.

Methos had also retrieved the great sword he had carried for decades before they had left the bodies of the outlaws to the ravens. They had all they would need... for a while.

He taught her to walk and move so that she would seem almost invisible to the attention of others... as if she were someone of no importance. He taught her how to change her appearance, even the apparent size and shape of her body. He taught her how to read the land, to watch others as she always had, but now with an even more critical eye. He taught her to carefully consider actions and reactions. He taught her how to find another immortal and how not to betray herself when she did so. He taught her to watch what she said when meeting another immortal, so that the other would learn nothing about her. He taught her how to become mysterious. He taught her never to offer information... to change her name.

"I suppose..." Aella said when Methos taught her the last, "that Edward Gray is not your real name."

Methos smiled at her and said nothing.

She nodded back in understanding.

"But," he offered, "I will always be Edward for you."

"No..." Aella sadly shook her head. "Sir Edward Gray is dead. I do not know who you are."

"You will have to call me something."

"Whatever name you choose then, it matters not, does it."

Methos sadly agreed.

Most importantly, he taught her to fight... he taught Aella the skills she would need if she wanted to survive. Day after day, he put her through the paces as mercilessly as Aja had once insisted he learn symbols written first in wax and then in sand. Aella learned to thrust, parry, and disarm. She learned to move... she learned to use her clothes, her cloak, her hair, and her body, as well as whatever was around her to help in the fight. Her small stature could still be an advantage. She could get in close to her opponent. She could move beneath the thrusts of many of them. Methos feared, though, that it was all in vain.

Try as she might. She had little knack for this. Time after time Aella landed on her back in the dirt as he rained down blows upon her. Methos was not gentle. The opponents she would one day have to face would not be gentle either.

"Anticipate!" he yelled at her. "Watch for the unexpected!"

She would stand again and try again and land in the dirt face down. Gradually, though, the more Aella practiced, the more he pushed at her, the more he tested her against some of the best moves he had in his arsenal, she began little by little to improve. She still lost... but not as quickly.

During the entire training, she only tolerated his touch when absolutely necessary. They had argued about it. He had to touch her to show her how to hold the weapons. She did not want him that near. It was the first real fight they had ever had. Afterwards Aella had agreed, but she had stormed through the nearby bushes, whacking at them as if each and every one of them was an outlaw she would kill... or Edward himself for deceiving her about his nature... about her nature. Methos did not care which. Her anger right now made her want to survive. And he wanted her to survive. Later, he knew she would have to learn to control it... to use it to her advantage.

And, as Methos observed, Aella was approaching this the way she had approached reading or their lovemaking... with a singleness of purpose that drove everything else from her mind. Even when he called "Enough for today! " ... she still practiced. One day he saw her move in a way reminiscent of her dancing. After that she slowly began to improvise her movements with a better grace. Their sparring matches lasted minutes, not seconds.

One day after disarming her, Methos tossed Aella the great sword and indicated she was to use that next.

"Why? It is too heavy."

"Because in a battle you may lose your weapon and need to use your opponent's. Now come at me."

Aella lifted the sword and attempted one of her moves. The sword drug into the ground. She stopped and weighed the sword in her hand, noting its balance and feel. It would take her two hands to wield it. She shifted her position and tried again. Again she failed. It took most of the day, but by the end, she was moving it as if she had always wielded it. Then Methos took it from her and returned her long knife. Aella hefted it like a familiar friend, then swiftly attacked him with a wicked laugh, wielding it with a grace and lightness he had once thought she would never get. He almost let her win... there was so much joy in her face during that fight. She had had so little joy in the past few weeks.

Days passed. Aella was up at dawn, seeing to the horses, fetching water, gathering wood. The cooking she left to him. At night she slept near the fire on the far side, away from him. Methos slept back in the shelter, near the horses. He needed her to stay and learn, so he acquiesced in her arrangements. They were no longer man and wife... they were teacher and student. That was all Aella wanted. That was all that was important. So, that was all there was.

Late one afternoon just as evening was drawing to a close, Aella landed once more face down in the dirt after a match. She quickly jumped up and swatted away with her knife as if trying to figure out just what had gone wrong that time. She paced back and forth... mumbling to herself and swinging the knife. When she was ready, she came at him again.

This time she moved as if in the dance itself. Twisting, turning, slide left, right, shift positions, shift weight. Only they weren't the steps they had danced... the ones that matched the symbols he once had learned. These were new... and old at the same time. She had turned them on their side, or inside out... or upside down. She stepped in an ever-increasing fury of motion.

The great sword was suddenly ripped from his hands; as she slid a foot behind his, Methos quickly found himself on his knees! Twirling in the air, the great sword came down hilt first into her waiting hand. She hefted it suddenly and he found himself caught between the long knife on one side of his throat and the sword on the other!

Aella's eyes flashed in triumph. Methos raised his chin, closed his eyes, and waited. When nothing happened he opened his eyes, he could still feel both blades at his neck.

She regarded him evenly, almost calmly... thoughtfully. Aella cocked her head to one side as though listening to something. She glanced at the blades in her hands then lowered them and backed away.

Methos could not help but breathe a sigh of relief. Aella tossed him the great sword and then turned and walked away quietly.

Methos caught the sword, grateful it was once more in his keeping. Then he looked at her. Time for the final lesson.

He lunged toward her with sudden speed, disarmed her quickly and with the sword horizontal across her neck backed her against a dead tree! "You made three costly errors! One, you did not kill me when you had the chance! Two you trusted me and gave me back my sword! Three, you turned your back! Remember Aella, there can be only one!" He pushed the sword harder against the edge of her neck.

She gasped in terror. Her eyes widened fearfully. He held it there a long time. Then he released her. He backed away from her and, picking up her long knife, threw it into the dirt at the edge of the camp. Still backing away, he sat by the fire with the sword still in his hands. He watched and waited.

Aella continued to gasp and rubbed her neck all the while glaring at him. Finally she spat out, "So this is how it ends... teacher kills student or student kills teacher?"

"Always... sometimes. Sometimes friend kills friend... enemy kills enemy... lover kills lover. In the end, Aella, there can be only one."

She nodded and came to the fire and sat clutching her knees. She said nothing else but sat and stared into the flames. Her face bore a haunted expression.

After a while, Methos rose and went to his bed. The great sword was well within his reach. He flung his cloak about him and turned his back on her... but every sense he had was aware of her and every move she made.

Aella did not move for the longest time. Finally, she stepped over to the horses to set their feed bags and checked their straw. She cooed at them, laughing and whispering as she always did. Always the healer... always the one who knew what others needed. Finally he felt her come to stand over him. He clutched his sword... ready to respond.

He heard her take a deep breath and then heard the rustle of her clothes as she removed them. She lifted the cloak and crawled in beside him. He rolled onto his back and gazed into her sad green eyes. She leaned in to kiss him ever so gently... her hands began to fool with his clothes... getting them out of the way.

He turned to her... eager to respond to her kisses... her caresses. But he let her lead the way. If before, there had always been a gentle playfulness in their love... this was different. This was two people desperately trying to merge... one into the other. Each one attempting to somehow become the other... two who were alone attempting to become one. At last they both slept. For Methos... it was the first night in many nights that he at last felt some measure of peace.

****


	14. Chapter Thirteen: One!

**__**

Chapter Thirteen

One!

Strathclyde, 864 c.e.:

Methos had not felt her leave. He had been aware of her when she rose. He had heard the rustle of her clothing as she re-dressed, and the sounds of her morning routine. She had checked the horses and talked quietly to them, laughing at their snorts. She had stepped lightly out toward the remains of the fire and he could hear her gathering the wood and building it up again. He had drifted off into a light sleep. Now... there was no sense of Aella anywhere.

He leapt up and strode to the rim of the ledge and gazed out into the surrounding valley. There was nothing. Still, she might have gone south. That was most likely. Methos turned to gather his things and ride after her.

He stopped. Perhaps this was for the best. In some ways, he had known last night when she had come to him. He had seen it in her eyes. He tossed his things back on the ground to wander out toward the ledge once more.

His eye was caught by a stick stuck perpendicular into the ground in the ashes of last night's fire. Curious, Methos walked toward it.

In the ashes Aella had written the final two symbols. He shook his head, still wondering how it was she knew these without seeming to. He had labored long and hard as a child to learn and understand them. Even during all these years that he had forgotten Aja and his early days, Methos had remembered those symbols. He would find himself drawing them, as Aella had always done. They had always been a part of him. Now he could remember them all; and, more importantly, he had begun to remember their meanings.

He stared out into the horizon. What were they? What was their magic? Methos still had no answers. Perhaps, Aella did, without knowing it. What was the elusive magic of Aja he had always seemed to sense in her? Was Aja herself, still out there somewhere? Was she still finding and placing pre-immortal children where they could grow up in safety... loved and protected? Would he ever find her again?

__

"And someday, Scholar, you may find me in the face of a child." she had told him. What more had she known? What other questions about their origins had she kept to herself?

__

"I will answer three questions," she had often said.

But Aja was not here to answer the questions he now wished to ask. Methos would have to puzzle the answers out for himself.

He had become a survivor, although not quite in the way he thought Aja might have approved. But he had forgotten her, and much of what she had taught him. And, he had to walk the road that lay before him. He had made his own destiny. Now, Methos remembered it all. He glanced once more at the symbols. Perhaps the answers lay in Aja's final words. Ahh... perhaps that was it.

__

"Now, and for all time, we each walk a long and lonely road... but we can remember the past with joy, and seek the promise of a brighter future. One day we shall be one once more."

Methos shook his head. "That can not be it!" Yet, remembering Aja's departure and now Aella's what else could it be? Still... he gazed out onto the horizon. Aella had had to go. He knew that, in many ways he had always known it. He had tried to make it easy for her... but he had failed. Perhaps it was for the best. Now at least she had some survival skills. Methos would have to trust to that... that somehow, it had been enough.

And, if what they had been would never be again, he also had to accept that. Yet, perhaps, someday, their roads might cross again. Perhaps, for even a single moment, they could be one... once more.

Thoughtfully, Methos rubbed out the symbols from the ashes of the fire, so that nothing of them remained. Now which direction should he take? Not south, he did not want Aella to think he was following her, checking up on her. Not north, there were too many memories of their time together in the north, and he was not ready for that. East? Well, east, in the Viking lands, he knew traveled an old one-eyed immortal still searching for his long denied death... a death Methos had once before refused to grant him. West? He had been to Ireland only a century ago and was not really eager to return.

Returning to his belongings, Methos dug into his leather pouch and removed a small rune stone. On one side was the rune for "friend." The other side was blank. Heads, he would go east... tails it would be west.

Methos tossed the stone into the air. Caught it in one fist on the way down, and slapped it onto the back of his other hand. Gingerly he lifted his top hand to peer at the answer. "So be it!" he said, and smiled.

*****************************

__

Suddenly I knew that you'd have to go

My world was not yours, your eyes told me so

Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time

And I wondered why.

from The_ Old Ways_, music and lyrics by Loreena McKennitt

Note: I found this verse after having written this story and while I was in the process of editing it. The words of the verse fit so perfectly, that I couldn't resist adding it on as a postscript. And the story, which was originally, called merely "Crossroads" got a new title.

**__**

Afterword:

The historical Kenneth mac Alpin (Cinaed mac Ailpin) is often considered the first of the kings of a united Scots nation as he was the first king to unite the Scoti kingdom of Dalriada and the Picti kingdom called Pictland. This joined kingdom was known as Alba, or Albania, and later Scotia. Alba was a name also once used for all of the British Isles. Kenneth claimed the crown of Dalriada by virtue of his father's line, and the Pictish one through his mother. The Picts were said to have recognized succession through the maternal line. Born circa 800 c.e., he ruled from about 843 c.e. until his death in either 858 c.e. or 860 c.e. He was buried on the Island of Iona, off the western coast of Scotland.

At the time of Kenneth's ascendancy, the area we know today as Scotland, was divided into four areas and peoples. Besides Dalriada, settled by the Scoti from Ireland in the sixth century, Pictland with its Picti, and Strathclyde settled by Britons, there were also the areas of Northumbria and Lothian where Angles had settled. Kenneth made war on the Angles throughout most of his reign, but was never able to rule them. I have omitted the Angles from this story. The Scoti, Picti, and Britons were all Celtic tribes. The Angles were Germanic.

About 848 c.e., Kenneth moved his court from Dunadd in Dalriada into Pictland at Scone. He is said to have felt the first court was too vulnerable to attacks from the Vikings. Earlier, he had also moved Christian religious artifacts from the Island of Iona to a monastery at Dunkeld near Scone for the same reason. His fortress near Scone, called Forteviot, was most likely a timber hall, according to some historians. He also moved the fabled Stone of Destiny upon which Scottish kings were crowned from Dunadd to Scone. **_Highlander_** fans will recall the "Stone of Scone" episode from Season Five.

In the interests of not detailing and describing two courts, I have chosen to locate him at Forteviot, his second fortress, near Scone for the duration of the story. I just needed more time, and the thought of including a move and a change of location for this in mid-story seemed just too much and too confusing. More recent histories have revised his death to as early as 858 c.e. This gave me some problems in allowing enough time to pass for Aella to mature from child to woman. Although girls as young as thirteen were frequently wed at that time, I felt too uncomfortable with that idea for either Methos or fandom to accept.

Kenneth's brother Donald succeeded him as king and was in turn succeeded by Kenneth's son who ruled as Constantine I. The Scots kingdom did outlive Kenneth by several centuries. All Scots kings are numbered from Kenneth I.

The Picti, a Celtic tribe from the continent who had ruled Pictland for a thousand years, vanished from history shortly after Kenneth's rule. It is not known whether it was due to genocide on his part, or a gradual assimilation of the two cultures into one "race." As they were a related people, I like to think the latter is probably correct. Later Scots were known to have painted themselves blue when going into battle, as the ancient Picts were reported to have done.

Strathclyde was a Briton kingdom just to the south of Dalriada, but north of Hadrian's Wall. While it never formally allied with King Kenneth, it remained independent throughout his reign; they seemed to have been on "friendly" terms. Perhaps this was due to their on-going border disputes with the Angles, disputes, which helped Kenneth in his attempts to subdue Northumbria and Lothian. Lord Strathclyde, as portrayed in this story, is my own invention.

The use of McDonough for the name of the hostage children's guardian in Chapter One is incorrect; but, again, I felt it simplified the story, especially as she was a minor character. "Mac" means "son of" but I could not recall what the term for daughter was. Eventually, it just seemed simpler to leave the name as McDonough. I do not know if Kenneth used the old custom of taking hostage children; but it was one found throughout history and in many cultures. Somehow, it seemed appropriate here. Its purpose, as stated in the story, was to keep retainers and minor kings and chieftains, loyal to a new ruler.

The custom of _charivari_ or _shivaree_ as it came to be known in our own country, was mainly "a noisy mock serenade" for the newlywed couple, usually from outside the bridal chamber. Today, it remains mainly in the often raucous decoration of the honeymoon car by friends of the groom (and sometimes also by friends of the bride). The examination of sheets was part of the legal process of a marriage in medieval times; a way to prove that both the guardian of the bride (whether it had been her father or another) and the new husband had each honored their side of a legal arrangement. Marriage, especially for nobility, was a legal contract, and not a romantic one, although sometimes, it became one.

As for the scenes set 3800 years earlier, circa 3000 b.c.e., they are entirely my own invention. Nut (noot) was a sky goddess of Egyptian mythology. I just liked the sound of her name. Aja (ah dja), of course, utilizes in many times and in many places before her death the ambient religion of an area as cover for her Immortal activities. Thus, she becomes the wandering wise woman/witch or mid-wife of many cultures, the oracle of the gods in others, and the Faerie Queen of British legend. Having her called Queen Mab, at one point in this story, may not be correct, but the line sounded appropriate. In another **_Highlander_** story I have been working on, Aja puts in an appearance as the Lady of the Lake. On her long journey, Aja was many people. 

I visualize the symbols Aja taught Methos, as similar to very complex Mayan glyphs; something far more complex than the early writings of Middle Eastern or Egyptian culture. That is not to say they are Mayan, nor that the Mayan civilization plays any part in this ... but who is to say. I just liked the look of some of them.

Aella, in some ways, is Aja's successor, albeit a much diminished one. She has no great power, except, perhaps, an ability to _read_ people; nor any clear-cut answers concerning the origins of Immortals. I leave that to the "Powers that Be" (_aka_ Davis-Panzer _et al_). Whatever knowledge Aja may have had, she took it with her to her grave, except for the clues she left behind. Where those lead, I am still not entirely certain, although I do have an idea; at least as far as my original characters are concerned. As for Aja's death, or Aella's transformation into the modern Ellie, well that... as they say, is another story. Like Scheherazade, of the **_Arabian Nights_**, I have learned that it is important to know just when to end the story. 

For those more knowledgeable of Scots history, or of that of the ancient cultures of the Middle East, or of ancient religions, please forgive my errors. This is, after all, fan fiction, and meant to be fun! The important thing, as Aella/Ellie would tell you, is for you to "join in the dance of Life with joy!" 

Peace.

#30#


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